While You Were Gone
by jcooks2010
Summary: Written from multiple perspectives, this shifting fanfic chronicles the war at Hogwarts; focus on Ginny's/Neville's experience. DH Compliant except a bit of Epilogue. Nev/Han, R/Hr, H/G Other pairs. Rated M for language, violence, and sex.
1. Ginny in a Pickle

1

Ginny

Ginny Weasley was screwed. She had known it for all of two minutes, thirteen seconds, and still she was sitting here, her face practically screaming desperation, not even extricating herself from the crime scene. Not that it would matter, she admitted as she tilted her head to the side in fearful woe. For all her inner-monologue the past three weeks that she should ignore those niggling questions about what the Trio were talking about whenever they managed to sequester themselves away from her mother's watchful eyes (and Ginny knew better than anyone that alluding Molly Weasley was quite the feat), she had elegantly managed to slip up not only to the point of no-recovery as far as hiding her snooping went, but also past the all-too-dangerous point-of-no-return in curiosity. It wasn't that she didn't want to know what kinds of horrible danger they'd be undoubtedly facing once they escaped her mother's clutches; she could be patient, try to respect Harry's desire (though misplaced and frustrating) to keep her safe by keeping her out of their plans, and wait until she knew how she could help, apart from trying not to tempt him too much. Ok, so trying not to tempt him when her mother was in the room, as he'd developed a startling resemblance to her brother's ear-reddening and coughing feats when near Hermione. And that time she bent over at the waist to pick up a napkin ring she'd dropped while polishing in front of him? Completely accidental. It did gather a quiet but still distinguishable moan, however.

Yes, she was in a real pickle: though she'd tried not to pry, and it was easy enough to control herself when the trio hid themselves in obscure places like the chicken coop and the pantry in the basement, she had managed to walk into her own room and pick up one of Hermione's books without even thinking about what her subconscious seemed to be leading her towards. Upon perusing the title lazily, her eyes popped reading a title that this was definitely _not_ what she'd been expecting, and the insistent voice calling in her head for answers, for even a hint at what the three closest people in the world to her would soon be facing, suddenly screamed for her immediate attention.

_Making the Horcrux: Magick Moste Evil_. Somehow, though the title meant nothing at all to her, a chill had run up her spine, the same feeling that led her to know that Harry having the diary would be bad, that Ron was in trouble somewhere in Slughorn's office, and that wherever Harry had gone with Dumbledore, things were not going to plan. She had learned by now to trust her instincts when it came to dark or suspect objects: flushing away the diary, slamming the music box closed in Grimmauld Place, and most recently, she had borrowed (ok, stolen) a bezoar from the potions stores to keep on her at all times- just in case. You could never be too careful, she reminded herself, knowing that it might make the difference someday soon between being able to save a family member or watching them twitch helplessly.

The word Horcrux itself sparked a cold recognition she couldn't quite place, something whispered by a male voice when she had been tired and half-asleep. Yet she was sure she'd never heard it said aloud. Feeling timid for the first time in years, Ginny panned open the cover and flipped to the first page, pulling her hands over the yellowing, red-inked pages. It had taken her all of a minute to decipher the script that was used- deep crimson letters seemingly etched into the thick vellum pages as though by a knife, using old English spelling and grammar, and another minute to pull her hand away in disgust when she realized the ink was not ink, but deep rivulets and lines of blood. Gingerly pulling the second page over, she continued reading, her eyes growing wide with fear and a sick sort of stretching within her stomach, as though she'd had to swallow the ideas within and couldn't quite stomach their potency.

This was what the diary had been. She knew it, as clearly as she had known that when Dumbledore had confessed he didn't know what magic was in the diary, it had been more the answer he wanted to give her at the tender age of eleven, and not the answer she had needed. She had long ago discovered from Harry who Riddle had grown to be, listening to his memories of what Dumbledore had showed him of the boy who had haunted her first year at Hogwarts, and had shelved her curiosity behind concern for Harry and the need to improve her dueling, to learn how to hide and shield dwellings, to understand how to communicate through patronuses and how to heal broken bones and stop bleeding. Never, in the last two months of studying next to a voracious Hermione, who seemed all too eager to keep the ancient tomes she was reading hidden from Ginny's eyes, did she question whether the events of her first year at Hogwarts could have anything to do with how the Trio planned to thwart Voldemort. Her lack in curiosity didn't put her off in the least; she knew she had been carefully practicing spells in her bedroom, covered by her mutual decision with Hermione that it would be best if she learned how to protect herself and others and that if anyone inquired, Hermione had been the only one to lift a wand in the room. She had no reason to assume that the things Hermione was reading with that slightly disturbed look etched on her face were anything more than complex protection spells, like the Fidelius that the girls had finally perfected together the week before.

She'd never been a match for Hermione in interest in studying, but her power was certainly on level, if not higher, they had both agreed. It seemed that while Ginny had trailed Hermione in marks by a letter in each subject where school was concerned, the tables changed once the two had a real life situation to apply their spellwork, and Ginny was surprised, but not disturbed, when she found she was meeting Hermione spell for spell once she understood the theory. Perhaps, she mused, she had grown too focused on learning that talking patronus last week, and that was why she'd failed to read all the blaring signals that Hermione knew much more than she was letting on.

For one thing, Hermione talked in her sleep. After an incident in Ginny's third year where she'd heard Hermione giggle Ron's name in a most un-Hermioneish way while they slept in the tent the night before the Quidditch World Cup, she'd decided she'd rather not tell her best friend, and rather see what blackmail she could divulge from this stroke of luck. Like arguing, it was a trait Hermione shared in common with Ron, and Ginny had heard snippets spoken though their sleep she would never have gleaned from conversations in daylight: like the time she'd gone to wake Ron up for breakfast earlier this week, and he'd been muttering about a snake and a locket. Or the time Hermione had been tossing and turning, repeating the initials R.A.B.- the same initials she'd seen on the note she'd removed from Harry's jeans when she had been about to do laundry with her Mum, which she'd quietly handed off to a startled and suddenly worried Harry under the dinner table. The itch to question him had burned, but one look at his anxious face had killed any intrigue before it reached her tongue.

It was four minutes into her reading, when she was really getting to understand the magic behind the horrible diary that had possessed her, when she tried to turn the next page, muttering about Ron's helpful hints from his sleep, that the thought dawned on her that if Voldemort had used the diary, then he must know from Lucius it had been destroyed, and with the note she'd seen from R.A.B.- which she had realized, now, must have been where she'd read the word before, then there must be _more_.

_More than one_. The diary hadn't been destroyed by R.A.B., and that meant there were two. At least two. Growing frantic as she realized what her family might be up against, she pulled out Hermione's backpack, a muggle one with two back straps that was pink canvas, and made her think of a third-grade Hermione, buck-teeth and all, and pulled out her notes without the slightest hesitation. It was just as she was turning over the second page, realizing with a jolt that most of the writing seemed to be Harry's, from the way he looped his g's, that she saw the list:

_The locket_

_The cup_

_The diary_

_The snake_

_The ring_

_Something of Ravenclaw's or Gryffindor's_

The ring and diary had been crossed out. This, she hoped, meant both had been dealt with. But what would that mean, anyway? Could Dumbledore have destroyed the ring? Or did R.A.B.? And the locket was still not crossed off, which meant they weren't sure that R.A.B. had truly destroyed it, she assumed. Then she remembered what little Harry had told her of his time with Dumbledore that fateful night, when she'd held him as he cried in his bed behind silencio'ed curtains: they'd gone to an underground lake, somewhere "special" to Voldemort, he said, looking for something important to him. Something that gave Voldemort the power to come back. There were Inferi that attacked them, and Dumbledore had to drink a potion that made him weak and confused. At this, Harry had started shaking so badly, she'd hushed him, stroking his mussed locks to try to comfort him as best she knew. He loved being touched, seemed to crave just holding her hand or running his fingers through her hair, letting her hug him. She knew it was likely from having so little of those simple touches growing up, and she'd been aware of the fact that outside of Hermione squeezing him to death after each time he escaped some horror, these were likely the most contact he'd had. She'd treasured the thought that he let her, that he could cry in front of her, that he could let her see all of him. It was terrible and yet beautiful to see him reach out for her touch, needing to feel her close to him.

But Ginny was brought back to Earth by thoughts of Harry's next adventure. So this was how Voldemort came back in her Third Year: his Horcruxes bound his soul to Earth, and it looked as though eliminating the remaining ones would be a deadly, lengthy process. Ginny felt tears well in her eyes, a foreign substance in the last months. She'd forced herself not to cry when he broke up with her, knowing his face said all too well how he hated doing it, pulled back tears when she saw Bill's face and heard the news about Dumbledore, but this was too much. The evidence was laid bare before her: her beloved would be lucky to survive the next two Horcruxes they went after, even if the Death Eaters didn't find a way to breach the security on the Burrow or wherever he stayed next. They'd be hunting down heavily guarded objects surrounded by Voldemort's best curses while she was expected to go back to Hogwarts, pretending her brother, ex-boyfriend, and best friend weren't probably being tortured or killed, and ignore the fact that for a year of her life, she'd been possessed by Voldemort's _soul_.

That's what had taken hold of her mind: not a memory or an enchantment, or a potion, but a piece of Voldemort's twisted soul, which had resided in her brain, moved her fingers, perhaps even smiled through her face at Harry. And all at once, Ginny knew she was going to be sick, and there was no way in hell she could prevent it.

With a horrible gurgling sound, she retched, snot and a half-stifled sob flying from her face as her half-digested breakfast projected onto not only her lap, but onto page three of what looked like Hermione's best reference. Even a quick evanesco would do nothing to save her now- though the saliva and food bits were gone, and her lap was clean, the smell remained: and so did a blotch the size of a handprint on the entire page, a stain that refused to budge. Her father had warned her from the time she was three: Magic couldn't fix everything. Even if you broke a vase and reparo'ed it, the break lines would still be visible.

Ginny closed the book shakily, replaced it in the bag, and tucked Hermione's notes in, hoping she'd gotten the placement correct. It was too much to hope she wouldn't notice they had been moved, but hopefully if she asked Ginny could pass off that she had been looking for her favorite sweater and had moved the bag, accidentally putting it upside down on her bed, and the contents had spilled. Maybe Hermione wouldn't look through that book again. After all, her notes made it clear they understood the basics well enough, so why go back through the nasty blood-book?

Five years of sharing library tables with Hermione told her an entirely different story. Yep, Ginny Weasley was fucked. She shook her head, cast another scourgify on herself, and went in to the bathroom to wash her hands.

Certainly, this was not something to tell the twins about. She knew the type of information that was to be gossiped about, and for the most part, that was the type she never cared to know. She valued her privacy and Harry's even more so, and for the first time since her anger at him for separating them, she started to see why he wanted to shield her. It _hurt_ to know what had lived in that diary. It hurt to think about what they were up against- that with everything else they were expected to avoid or fight for, there would be this task to complete before Voldemort could even be mortal, let alone dead. She had often wondered what would happen if Voldemort were to learn, upon capturing her, that she had known Tom Riddle and talked to his diary. While Harry might be foolishly blind when it came to romance, Snape and Malfoy were certainly not without brains, and they would have told Voldemort by now that she and Harry had been together. Whether or not Voldemort learned they had "broken things off" from Pansy Parkinson or a joyous Romilda Vane would do little to protect her, she knew. Hermione had already loaned her several books on Occlumency, something she had been studying herself as a way to shield her mind were they ever captured. And after the looks Harry had been giving her still across the dinner table, she knew she had to pick up the subject and fast before she became a ticking time bomb that could lead to Harry's demise. But with the two girls testing one another, they could hardly feel secure: neither were a successful legilimens, though Ginny could almost always tell when Hermione was lying, spell or not. She knew she needed a better teacher before she was to go back to Hogwarts, where surely Voldemort would have a few well-placed spies, if he hadn't already overrun the school.

Ginny straightened up from her seat on the lavatory. Ron's voice could be heard hollering up the stairs that Mum needed her. Splashing her face with water, she noted in the mirror that the striking pale white had faded back to a more healthy color as she'd sat, and dried her hands. Mum probably wanted her to work with Hermione to separate her from Harry or Ron; somehow, she had forgotten that Ginny was already as easy accomplice to their planning. If it would keep Harry safer, she'd help, even if it meant taking him away from her. She'd already smuggled in Mad-Eye's polyjuice stores under her shirt for Hermione after her Mum had left it in the kitchen in a cauldron. The girls had split the vast cauldron's contents after deciding they couldn't tell which of them would need it most, and Ginny had spent half an hour patiently filling empty bottles in the dark bathroom by wandlight. Fred and George's love potion line were charmed to resemble shampoo, and made ideal containers. She then filled a conditioner bottle with her father's quiet donation: a single vial of Veritaserum, procured from Moody's trunk, just enough for three doses, and an entire healer's kit, which she'd shrunk to the size of a postage stamp and fitted within the bra she'd be wearing to the train.

She felt somewhat more prepared, knowing she had the kit and several excellent books Hermione had geminio'ed, page by page, listing dark curses, poison antidotes, ways to splint broken bones and how to brew a pain draught. Maybe this time, being prepared would make her feel more in control over the wild emotions and fears she'd been having over coming back to an alien, unwelcoming Hogwarts, where Muggleborns likely wouldn't be welcome and staff might change to Death Eaters once Voldemort took over the Ministry. _If_ he took over the Ministry. She had to hope it wouldn't come to that. Hope was making her frail, making her feel like the slightest change in the wind would leave her helpless. And Ginny Weasley, though she stood at all of 5'2, was never helpless.

Ginny grimaced as she walked into the room. Tomorrow was Harry's birthday, and though she had some ideas as to what he'd like (not that she was going to act on any of her daydreams) she had spent the better part of her day helping her mother bake a golden snitch cake, instead of fantasizing about Harry taking her in his arms and promising to take her with them as he returned her passionate kiss. Really, she wasn't usually one for dirty romance-novelesque dreams, but he'd been staring at her for weeks, and brushing up against her only to avoid her for hours, just like before they'd been dating. It was driving her _bloody_ _mad_ that he wouldn't just snog her in the dining room as they set the table and get it over with. They both knew the break-up was bogus, so why hold to it if no one would be any the wiser but them?

But she couldn't just leap on him. No, this had to be tasteful, tactful- patient, the way the venomous tentacula in greenhouse three had lured in the squirrel she'd seen it chomp down on last year. He must never suspect she was going to break their no-touching taboo, and yet he must want her to very, very badly, until the moment she let him do so- the moment she pulled in just close enough that he could count her freckles on her nose, like he always used to do when they sat by the lake and cuddled.

Ginny looked at her mother as she came down the stairs, and saw a disgruntled Ron throwing apologetic looks at Harry, who was sorting favors for the wedding and eyeing her legs as she came down the stairs in her shorts. Behind him, Hermione had resorted to using a sign language unknown to any other human, gesturing madly to get Ron's notice so they could wordlessly decide how to circumvent Molly's divide-and-conquer demands. Ron, oblivious, was putting golden bubbles into boxes and shrinking them to take outside and hang in the trees. Harry looked up at her, meeting her eyes for the first time in days, and the longing she saw there before he quickly averted his gaze stole her cheeky "I'm here for duty, Mum!" from her mouth.

He must never know how much she knew, how much Hermione would now guess she knew, and how utterly terrified and desperate it was making her feel.


	2. A Werewolf's Musings

2

Remus

Though he never could quite fathom why, it seemed he'd been chosen again. He'd always been getting picked on- for Prefect fifth year, for best DADA student Seventh Year, for that raffle at the county fair he'd gone to with that Muggle girl Sirius had talked him into seeing for an evening. The Prefect duties made James madly jealous of all the time he spent with Lily and made Lily get an uncomfortable crush on him, which made it look all the worse, even though that faded within a fortnight. The DADA award had ruined his graduation when his father angrily spat that just because he was a dark creature, didn't mean he understood them. The fair raffle? He'd had to carry the gigantic stuffed purple dragon he'd won for the shy but overzealous Muggle girl, who kept reassuring him she thought it was lovely he'd made his intentions known with a gift. Then he'd had to deal with Padfoot's chortles for the next month as the girl continued to leave lovesick messages on their answering machine, complete with her new nickname for him: dragonlips. His father had picked him to be the son who got disinherited, and his mother had picked him to be the son she didn't stand up for. He'd also been specially picked by Fenrir Greyback . . . but that was another story. Then Dumbledore, it seemed, has chosen to give him a chance at Hogwarts not because he wanted to help, but because he'd been collecting werewolf hair all those years from the Shrieking Shack, an ingredient in Wolfsbane that had made money for the school and given it a place of honor in conducting the research. He'd only just found that morsel of information out recently, from reading the letter addressed to him should anything happen to Dumbledore. The letter also happened to pick him to be successor as Head of the Order.

Remus wasn't quite sure how he felt about the whole situation. They'd dealt with containing any information Snape could access through Grimmauld Place with curses by the door, successfully planned (though miserably executed) a Harry retrieval to safety at the Burrow, and had gained fifteen new members because of the spike in recent deaths among pure and half bloods. Apparently if Voldemort killed his own, then some were more likely to take a chance at hiding Order Status, especially since it meant they could use it for protection. With Mad-Eye's loss still fresh and raw, the leader he would have chosen in his place, had Dumbledore not stepped in post-mortem, Remus felt even more lost. New members had to be drilled in defense by Tonks and Kingsley for three months before they were deemed capable of handling any sort of mission, and right now, even with the promise of these new, albeit scraggly recruits, he felt the Order was already falling apart, and under his leadership as well.

Things always seemed to get destroyed because of him, he thought, as he sat at his desk, letting his moodiness and self-flagellation grow to epic proportions. His family had been torn apart. His fiancé had been murdered in the first war, when he'd been certain that Marlene, the only girl who'd never shied away upon learning what he was, had been pregnant. They'd never done the test, but he could still remember the looks on their faces when she'd said she was late, and that glow had circled around them. She had been left with paw-print symbols marked in her blood drawn around her body. He'd gotten the picture: mate with a pureblood, and you bring their death. Sirius had gone to Azkaban because he'd never put up a fight, never made the Ministry question their actions. Dumbledore had gotten him the job of his dreams, and Remus had botched things up by revealing his inner nature, and came perilously close to biting some of the people he loved most. Then, the worst mistake, there was Dora.

Remus loved her more than anything, cherished her smile, her throaty laugh, her clumsy grace and that elegant neck that never changed no matter how she morphed. He could always tell who she was, even when Sirius and she had played a trick using covert polyjuice and some well-timed morphing their last Christmas together. Sirius was not the one with the delicate, graceful neck. He _was_, however, the one who never lost his playboy swagger, despite his decidedly smaller and less manly frame when polyjuiced as Tonks.

In Tonks Remus saw the happiness he'd always wanted for himself, but could never seem to achieve. She'd come home once to Grimmauld shortly after Sirius' death, and he'd been unconscious after a bad transformation. Seeing him bruised, dirty, naked, bloody- none of it touched her. To any other girl it would have made him feel common to have her hands massaging his aching muscles, but Tonks did it with a grace that belied her years. She'd cut up cheese into cubes, made him a luscious steak like he could only dream of, and brought two glasses of wine up to dull his pains and get him to relax. With bruise cream, a sleep potion, and another massage, he'd been in heaven, waking up the next day to find the best part was that she was still there, canary yellow locks spread over his chest, murmuring into his stomach so that he felt a gentle hum fill his middle.

He'd watched her easy cool melt into swift, unwavering action as she fought at the Ministry and at Hogwarts, throwing curse for hex, flipping jinxes so fast he felt she should be a practiced dueler in her fifties. She'd broken the taboo by paying for their first date without needing to pay at all; she'd made the walk in the gardens seem like the most lavish promenade he'd ever witnessed, watching her warmly caress his hand and then lift from her pocket a magically expanding thermos of hot apple cider. They'd sat under the maples, watching the stars, talking of Sirius, and he didn't even need to kiss her to feel the way she loved him.

Remus didn't deserve it. He knew he didn't. It wasn't anything wrong he did, it was simply a fact: she had convinced him before, pulled him into a reckless relationship, but watching Mad Eye go down, he'd made a decision: he wouldn't put her in more danger than she'd already be in. He'd been haunted by the way Bellatrix had hunted his darling; he knew, without a doubt, that Bella was out for her blood, and it was all because she'd sullied the Black line with a werewolf mate. Nothing he could tell her would make her take back the beauty she'd shown him, the memory of the curve of her hip, that night in bed, when they'd been married mere hours, and he'd pulled her close, growled in her ear, bit her shoulder, claiming her as his. He couldn't take it back. Wolves mate for life. He wouldn't take it back.

But what if it meant her life? Should he do what Ted Tonks was doing, leave her to protect her, love her only from afar? Could he really go back to never seeing her violet curls in the morning as she dozed, sometimes snoring, sometimes pressing cold toes to his calves? Could he see that dying look in her eyes when he told her they'd made a mistake-again- and he couldn't endanger her, he was too poor to support them, too dangerous to keep her happy. He knew now she wouldn't resent him. It wasn't in her nature; she was too fair, too kind. Too bloody Hufflepuff. But he wished he could make her hate him, make her want to get far, far away where no Death Eaters would ever chase her because she was his, because her patronus was his Alpha Female. In the moonlight, when she sent it to him, the beast quieted and sat still, panting content, in awe of the silvery strength that was the she-wolf he loved.

The problem was that he feared the she-wolf, as always, had too powerful a grip on his heart. He lived for her, breathed for her, longed to be inside her constantly. Only when buried to the hilt in her warmth was he satisfied. Only then did the wolf in him not grumble that they should be mating, that Tonks and he could be cuddled up, and he could put his nose in her hair, and smell her honeysuckle scent, like fur rubbed over flowers in a ravine, fresh from spring. He sighed. Chasing her and running from her had nearly killed him with want. He could never leave her. He would have to remain her protector, the mate who always wished to do more.


	3. The Greenhouse Grapple

3.

Augusta

Her hat went to the nobbly hat post, as it always did on Tuesdays. She could never wear it an entire week, for then it would seem she only had one hat, and it wouldn't do for the ladies at the _Potioneers Auxillary_ to find her status lacking. Yet it was her favorite, and she wore it quite as often as her olive green velvet with the ostrich plumes, her second best, which went nicely with her summer best and her navy pumps. They were both original creations she'd had hand-made by Twilfitt and Tattings before that rubbish Gladrags Magazine had spoken in favor of "pinned pieces, with assorted feathers and jewels, rather than full head-covers". Her gloves were folded neatly and placed on the lacquered table in the front entry, where she'd occasionally leave her cane, if she wanted to have it handy but not in plain sight. A quick summoning charm was all she needed. The varnished cylinder that normally held her options was filled with extra canes, a trusty lilac umbrella Minevra had once told her went well with her hair, and a smattering of clubs of some kind that Mr. Longbottom- God Rest His Soul- had once invested in to try some foolish Muggle sport. It had been nearly eight years since he'd passed, and the iron clubs still sat there, bumping Neville's favorite red-handled spade and two broomsticks, which were dusted regularly but never removed from their spots. One had been dear Alice's, a Comet thirteen, back when the model had been less flashy and more durable. The other, a Dart Arrow, was her darling Frank's, which had been collected from their home and brought here for Neville to enjoy. Someday. Perhaps when he wasn't so prone to breaking things. Or breaking himself.

She entered the parlor to switch her everyday spectacles for her reading ones, intending to settle down to the Daily Prophet, no matter how far its standards seemed to have dropped. It gave her an idea of what was going on, at least, though more often than not lately this had been from what they hadn't reported, rather than what they had. As she crossed the foyer to order a cup of tea from Jiggy, an unwelcome but nevertheless oft-seen substance crossed her path, and she frowned at once thinking of the countless times in just the last month she'd warned Neville to clean off his boots before entering the house. It was just as well she hadn't settled herself in yet; best to take the matter up with him at once, and if she couldn't be sure he would remember if she told him before bed, then interrupting his weeding would surely bring his shortcoming to better attention.

Crossing the gate quickly into the courtyard, she was within yelling distance of the first of the two greenhouses before she saw the flashes of light hitting the inside of the second in the distance. Though the grounds of the Manor were well kept with tall, stately trees and a variety of flowering bushes, she had a clear view of the top paneling of glass of the roof of each, and she quickened her pace at once to a trot that would have winded most women half her age.

"Neville! RUN FOR JIGGY! GET BACK TO THE HOUSE!" Augusta cried, throwing three nonverbal stunners in quick succession. A slight blond girl, no more than a wisp with a mop of hair, was firing rapid jinxes wordlessly from behind the Vesper's Rose, while her red-faced grandson, halfway up her precious Jicadia Tree, which was due to start husking any time soon, was ducking and weaving while climbing the tree.

Augusta grinned. She was furious, but proud, watching him dart between the huge leaves to fire off a silent trip jinx that missed, followed by three separate spells in a classic triangle formation, catching the young lass with the third and then binding her from the top of the tree with silvery cords.

"HA! NO Apparition, no wand use! See if you can get out of that one!" he cried. Luna, however, was not to be outdone, and Augusta watched in shock as a tiny gold knife emerged from her hand struggling to free itself from her side, and the girl rolled, avoiding not only her son's stunner but the angst-filled mandrake stalks who were reaching their pimply, hormonal stage (judging by the creeping vines they sent out at the girl). With two swift cuts, the girl was free, crouching behind a well-placed mivinich stump, and clearly using the reflective surface of the glass to send spell after spell towards Neville, hoping that in the rebounds, he'd be caught by one or two.

Augusta had seen enough. They were good, certainly, but perhaps . . . yes . . . she might need to polish them up a bit on her own. Pulling her wand in a wide, loping circle, a fierce wind formed in the center of the greenhouse, turning grey and devilish in the noonday sun and sweeping girl, boy, and a vast quantity of unfortunate leaves into a tight clump near the center, where the fog tightened around the two delinquents who'd been coming dangerously close to her Night Blooming Jasmine she was so fond of for scenting her baths.

While Luna was smiling dreamily at Mrs. Longbottom, who knew by now to expect no less and to brush off the eye-brow-raises she felt deigned to reply with, Neville looked positively poached. Had Augusta not seen this look on his once pudgy, anxious face after muddy floors and improperly made beds and sticky faces, she would have been worried he was near fainting. Yet for Augusta, there was nothing so satisfying as watching Neville slowly but surely come to push back against her ideas and decisions, making his own to match his father's independent streak. She'd once worried her scolding had pulled this drive from him forever, but whether it came from determined, fiery little Alice or her own brave, inquisitive Frank, she knew that her grandson had courage to spare, and needed to keep being pushed until he finally found his bearings. True, she might have nudged just a bit too hard a few times, and she always felt that there was something lacking in her remarks towards his school work, but she could never quite put her finger on the fact that all Neville really needed was a smidgen of positive reinforcement to take off like a Firebolt.

"Erm, Gran? We didn't break anything, honest, and I already finished the shrivelfigs," he started to squirm out, but then stopped, perhaps in medical shock, at the proud beam that his tenacious grandmother was currently displaying. For a second Augusta entertained the notion that finally, they were getting somewhere.

"Not bad, overall. Frank would have used more raw power, been rash- gone in for open shots without wanting as much cover. Alice, however, would have preferred to duck and cover, keeping her enemy in sight, and charming the plants or objects around her to come to her aid."

Luna seemed to be merely nodding in understanding, while Neville's shocked look had evolved into a dropped bottom lip that, in Augusta's mind, would have warranted a scolding about manners and proper poise on any other occasion. The fact that she'd just discovered her notoriously clumsy and forgetful grandson throwing nonverbal hexes like it was nobody's business was going to outflank his other flaws for the time being, though like the first time he'd managed to remember to pack his potions book for the train in fifth year, Augusta was wondering if perhaps she should wait to see if all his underwear hadn't been left at home in his drawers.

"Your Granddad, on the other hand," she began, drawing a blank but curious look from her grandson, "would have disillusioned himself, charmed the glass to darken the room, silenced any noise from his feet, walked up right behind them, taking them out with a clean stunner. I always preferred clean, clear-cut power: transfigure the trees into a wall, vanish the rest of the underbrush, and fire a quick horizontal succession of Petrificus Totalus, much quicker to shoot than stunners, if I were an Auror again."

Neville's eyes, if possible, had grown wider. Gran had never been forthcoming with details about her or Granddad's work, and somehow, he's never bothered to wonder what they must have done before they were, in his mind, too old to do much. It seemed he had been very mistaken.

His Gran? An Auror? Her stern faces certainly would have scared the pants off Snape and Malfoy, but somehow, even with her quick spellwork, he couldn't quite see her jumping to cut off an opponent. Luna merely nodded again, then asked Gran if she and Granddad were the same Longbottoms who'd held off Grindelwald before Dumbledore could safeguard the Muggleborns. With a look of poorly masked pride, his Gran nodded, smoothly polishing her wand with her blouse. Neville didn't think he could take anymore, but then his Gran offered him something she'd never done before: the chance to be an equal, an adult.

"I think we can work on your posture and creativity. I want you two to meet me in the courtyard in half an hour, ready to duel . . . and you can lift the dirt with your wands to make any hills or cover you want, so long as I don't have to deal with putting the whole Earth back together, Neville."

Neville closed his mouth, glancing at a Luna who had her left eyebrow perfectly arched in what could only be described as a challenge to his Gran. Gran's bottom lip was set- she had noticed.

It was going to be a long summer.


	4. Taming the Dragon

4

CHARLIE

Screams. Wine glasses shattered as a mass of feet moved across the shining wooden dance floor. Shouts of "PROTEGO!" came from no less than six wands, and in a split second, Charlie Weasley had gone from sipping red wine, admiring one of Fleur's cousins in a very flattering, backless, deep blue dress, to spitting out his last sip and drawing his wand. From the vantage point of the bridal table he could see four redheaded siblings- Bill, pulling Fleur behind him and waving his wand in intricate figure eights to try to reset the wards, his father, who was pushing Auntie Muriel and the rest of the crowd behind two tables he'd just set on their sides for cover, and the twins, who had unceremoniously shoved their hands in their pockets and were firing bright purple spheres at two black-robed figures from behind a third table. Tonks and Remus held shining shield charms, backing away from the fifteen figures to push the crowd behind the tables. Everywhere, the flurry of movement was thickened with dread and fear hanging in the air. Charlie jumped over the table and slid across the wet floor through wine and broken shards. The band had apparated immediately, and the golden-suited servers were following their lead after dropping their trays. Charlie skirted two older ladies who were fumbling for wands and shot a pair of stunners at the two figures who had edged past the side of the tables. Relief filled him when both dropped, and he began scanning the crowds for Ginny and his mother.

"GINNY! _GINNY_!"

Cries arose from behind him. The last ten of what had once been a huge crowd of friends and French cousins were panicking, having found they could no longer apparate. His mother, dress torn and with her wand aimed at the black robes, was firing quick, silent curses while Fleur herded the guests into the Burrow's basement through the storm door. "CHARLIE! FIND GINNY!" Molly screamed, turning to duel two figures who had knocked out Remus and were sending rapid hexes at Fred and George's position. The purple balls left a blaze of smoke and flashes of bright, blinding light, and Charlie rushed to pull Bill out of the way of a curse. Hunkering behind a table, the two brothers exchanged a determined glance and then jumped to opposite sides of their cover, throwing stunners and incarcerous towards the fog-encased Death Eaters. Charlie heard a distinct thump behind him; Bill had been taken out. He glanced over to see Fred trying to enervate a bleeding George as five more figures advanced, the purple balls forgotten. The purple fog was clearing, his father was clearly fighting wounded, and only Kingsley and Tonks remained in full action. His mother was firing curses from the storm door, her hair glinting as she swung it out of her face in the sun. Still, there was no sign of Ginny. Charlie crawled to Bill, pulling him behind the table, and summoned the wand of an oncoming Death Eater.

Three punches later, the disarmed opponent was knocked out cold and bound, and Charlie whirled around, jumping from his own cover to Fred's side. "JUST KEEP HIM UNCONSCIOUS- GET YOURSELF TO THE BASEMENT! NOW!" he roared, pulling a protego and then throwing cutting hexes at the four Death Eaters who were still firing at his father, mother, and a Kingsley who could not seem to stand, blood pouring from a knife imbedded on his upper thigh. He'd overturned the refreshment table and several broken spindly chairs were circling his body, diving in to take the blasts from curses that three Death Eaters fired at him.

"GINNY!" his mother screamed from behind him, and suddenly Charlie saw his sister's lithe form spring from the front door, a shining shield charm glistening as four stunners rebounded off it, one taking out the Death Eater he'd been firing at. The punch bowl Kingsley had upended over a Death Eater shattered from a stray curse, and all eyes suddenly moved to the black cloak writhing under steam and flames below, emitting a horrible scream before he fell to the floor. His companions threw violent sickly yellow spells at Kingsley, who yelled as his own chairs began to attack him, knocking him unconscious. Tonks was crawling toward Remus, who Ginny was trying to revive while levitating towards the house. Charlie sent more stunners towards the three remaining black robes that billowed, throwing curses, and dug into Fred's dropped bag, hoping to find more stun balls. Suddenly Remus and Tonks were gone, and Ginny had pulled their father back behind her, yelling something in his ear. To Charlie's surprise his father flicked his wand, sending Fleur, Tonks and Molly back into the house with a bang of locking doors, and then Ginny sent a golden spell that shot around the house, splintering into a million tiny golden lines that covered the walls, wrapping around the house. The Death Eaters had revived some of their own, and now stood nine strong, rapidly gaining on his father and sister. Charlie looked around as he dueled three, panicked, but they were the only ones still able to fight- Kingsley was out, his brothers and Remus had been pulled inside by Molly and Tonks, and the guests had all either vanished or lay on the ground, hopefully just stunned. The golden glow flashed white, and suddenly the house disappeared as Ginny dropped her wand, looking exhausted. A cry of fierce anger erupted from behind two silvery masks just as four Death Eaters disarmed them all and sent their father crashing into the table.

Suddenly, all was quiet. Charlie put his wand hand in the air, knowing they would have to deal with whatever happened. The lucky part was that the rest of his family was inside, and he prayed that whatever crazy spell Ginny had cast on the house that had enraged the Death Eaters would keep. A single tall black robed man stepped forward, crunching the broken glass into the destroyed dance floor. He whipped his wand twice, and silvery ropes wound their way up the captives' arms, digging tightly into their skin. Her father cried out, pulling himself up to reach Ginny, who stood, defiant, chin jutting out at the front Death Eater who smacked their father back into the table, where he stuck to the surface. Charlie felt a shiver of fear course through him again. Ginny's eyes glittered angrily and the wizard backhanded her.

"How dare you come into this wedding! How dare you threaten my family!" She spat as blood ran down her lower lip.

"I come because I can, because the Dark Lord does not care for your family's privacy or their lives. I come because you have no way to stop me. I could kill you with a single flick of my wrist, little girl," he sneered, and Charlie felt red-hot anger course through his veins, reddening his face.

"LEAVE HER THE FUCK ALONE! SHE'S UNDERAGE, YOU PRICK! YOU WANT TO PLAY? BEAT UP SOMEONE YOUR OWN SIZE!" he bellowed. Ginny kicked at the man who petrified her as she fell and then roared "CRUCIO!"

White hot knives pierced his skin, digging into his flesh, tearing his muscles from his bones. He screamed, his eyes rolling back into his head, feeling his skin licked by flames and his scalp ripped off his head. After what felt like hours, it was gone, and he was shaking and gasping on the ground, the ache filling his arms and legs. Suddenly Ginny screamed, and it was unearthly- the worst sound he had ever heard- and Charlie pulled his head up and strained, crying, tried to stand, but the ropes tied him to the ground, and he could only scream with his father, pleading for him to stop, watching as his sister writhed on the ground in her dirtied gold dress.

Ginny's screams ended, and he heard her whimper from the ground. The wizard was standing over her, surrounded by his cronies, who were laughing. Some sent flames at the trees, burning the old oaks to a crisp.

"Now, whore- where is Harry Potter?!" he yelled, before hitting her with a second Crucio.

"I D-DON'T KNOW!" Ginny yelled back from between clenched teeth. A second Death Eater sent a flame at her dress, and she rolled, putting it out, before he kicked her in the stomach.

"What have you done with your hovel? WHO IS THE SECRET KEEPER?"

"I AM!" she screamed

"LIES! IT IS YOUR FATHER! I WILL TORTURE THEM BOTH IF YOU DO NOT TELL ME WHERE POTTER IS!"

"HE'S NOT HERE! HE LEFT ME! I AM THE SECRET KEEPER!"

The Death Eater sent another Crucio at her, and Ginny twitched but did not scream. He motioned to two others, who began to send burning spells at his father. Tears rolled down Charlie's face; for once in his life, when it mattered most, he was powerless. He had failed, and they were all going to die.

"I AM NOT THE SECRET KEEPER! THE POTTER BOY HAS NOT BEEN HERE! WE DO NOT KNOW WHERE HE STAYS!" His father's voice was strained, pleading, and weaker than Charlie had ever heard.

"Do not think you fool me with your drivel, Weasley. Your brat is not old enough to cast a Fidelius. She dated the Potter scum in her fifth year, Snape has told us!"

Another Crucio followed, and Charlie watched through tear-blurred eyes as his father screamed. More screams, now from Ginny, and this time, he knew that surely, she would go mad, she would faint- anything was better than this, to hear her scream as though she was being ripped apart.

"I SEALED IT! I CAN SHOW YOU! POTTER IS NOT THERE!"

"Tell me the truth! You are hiding your cowardly lover, he is with the girl and your brother! The Dark Lord will find them, and then you will watch them die! Tell me, and I will spare you!"

"I DON'T KNOW WHERE HE IS! HE'S NOT HERE!"

More screams, from both his father and Ginny. The man paused, kicking her again and pulling his wand from his pocket.

"You will prove it to me. Summon the names you sealed. If you cast it, you will know how to do it. If you try to escape or cannot, I will kill them both."

He cut the cords around her with a dagger, slicing into her side as he did so. Blood ran down her arm, and Charlie felt his vision start to darken; the cords must be slowly constricting his blood flow. His father yelled for the man to release him as Charlie slumped over, and suddenly he could hear, but his vision was gone.

A sound like the wind cutting through a row of skyscrapers filled his ears, deafening him, and he struggled to sit up. Bright light made his eyelids glow, and the red of the inside of his eyelids was warm, comforting. He heard a yell and more screams, and then the pops of many Apparating. Someone was cutting the ropes around him, and he felt their pressure release at last. It was like air had not filled his lungs in hours, and the sweet breath he took expanded his chest, filling his lungs, restoring his vision and his strength. He opened his eyes, blinking as the darkness lifted, to see Ginny struggling to cut their father out of his ropes.

"Diffindo! _Oh, sorry Dad!_ I can't stop shaking! Diffindo!"

Charlie stumbled to their sides and began conjuring bandages for Ginny's side and arm. She collapsed to the floor, a puff of dust rising around her, and Arthur began aiming his wand at her bruises and tearing her dress off to find the cuts on her side that leaked crimson blood through her dress.

"Gin-Gin, honey, drink some of this . . ." his father's strong but shaken voice coaxed. "That's right . . . now I need you to lift it, don't worry, Daddy's got you. Just lift it, and we can get you in bed, sweet pea. You did perfectly."

A rushing sound filled his ears, and gold light washed over where the house had sat. Before the light could fade, his mother's form rushed out with a shriek, followed by Fleur and Bill. Bill scooped Ginny up like a rag doll and strode into the house, while Molly enveloped them each with crushing hugs and set to healing the cuts in Charlie's arms from the ropes. With a loping arch of her wand, the trash and cut glass melted, seeming to glide across the yard to reform in a heap by the Burrow's back door, and the tent and dance floor vanished. All that was left was grass. Charlie felt Fleur gently pulling him to his feet and into the house.

The guests had gone, and Ron, Hermione, and Harry were nowhere to be seen. Fred and a bloodied but standing George were behind Molly, who was washing Ginny's belly with a wash cloth and whispering to her quietly.

"How is she?" came Bill's concerned voice from behind him. Fleur was scourgifying them all and pulling George out of the room, presumably to make him change and shower after she checked his wounds again. Arthur sat down in his chair as though his legs were about to give out, and Molly nodded at him, sending a few spells at the kitchen, before a pot of tea, a glass, and oddly enough, Charlie thought, what was clearly his father's hidden brandy stash. After washing a glass down a coughing Ginny's throat, Molly seemed to relax. "You're going to be fine, my little Gin-Gin, just fine. But don't you DARE seal us in there again! Not even for a minute!"

Charlie walked to his father and Bill, tapping him on the shoulder. "Reset the wards? Or should we make other plans?" At his words, Molly lifted her head and shook it. "We can't move her yet, and Tonks . . . Tonks is pregnant, she can't be moved either. She took some heavy hits, and I want her in bed for the next week. It's not safe to Apparate either of them. Remus is tending to her." His father mended his shirt after healing his own cuts and bruises, and followed Bill outside to reset the wards they could for the night. "I want a Fidelius for the next forty-eight hours, until we can decide what we want to do," he told Bill and Charlie. "Decide between you two who'll be Secret Keeper; Charlie, reset the Muggle Repellers if you can, and Bill, I'd like you to set up some intruder charms and a blood line. I don't want anyone getting in here without being attached to a family member."

"Dad, what did Gin do to Seal everyone in?"

Charlie's father paused, looking over to see that his wife was not listening.

"I let Gin write everyone's name down for a Fidelius and then charm the Burrow to hold them until those attempting to break her Fidelius left the grounds." Bill nodded. "It's what I'd have done, if I'd thought of it," he admitted quietly to his brother. "Meet me out at the broom shed to find the map of the grounds," Bill added.

He swayed into the sitting room where Ginny and her mother seemed to have finished a silent disagreement. As Charlie hugged his mother, Ginny stirred, opening her eyes blearily. He reached down to kiss her on the forehead. "Don't ask for more pain, next time, Gin-Gin. You gave us a scare. Egging them on is only good if you have to bide for time. Take your anger out when it's to your advantage."

"Charlie?" Gin murmured, looking up at him.

"Yes?" he paused, grabbing the doorframe.

"You sound . . . old. Should I tell Fred and George to remind you just how young you really are?"

Charlie chuckled, holding back the tears he'd wanted to let fall when he saw how beaten up she was firsthand. Molly had come back from the kitchen loaded down with what looked like an entire Thanksgiving feast on a bed tray.

"Gin, I work with dragons. You never bait something that could roast you."

"Unless it's the only way you can fight," Ginny responded quietly. Their eyes met, and he read a mix of emotions: confusion, relief, exhaustion, and the tiniest prickle of worry.

"You'll figure out other ways, Gin. Just because it's the Gryffindor way doesn't mean it's the only way. And I rather thing Mum would be pissed if you died because you couldn't keep your mouth shut; you are her only girl after all. Fred and George, on the other hand, would kill you too- but only because you went out without escaping and sending Bat-Bogeys at them. Me, I'd just die from missing you. You wouldn't want to do that to your favorite brother, would you?" Charlie asked with a trademark grin that didn't quite make it to his eyes. He was still shaken, and they both knew it.

Ginny was silent, tapping her knee that was exposed from the rips in her dress and watching their mother come back down the stairs with an empty brandy bottle, the family clock, and a load of bloody laundry.

"No, I suppose you're right," she said quietly. Then she turned her head to him.

"Which is why you're going to help me."


	5. Fake Derision and Slow Decision

5

Draco

As the trees whizzed past in quick, green blurs, Draco resigned himself to sitting alone in his compartment. It wasn't an unwelcome development; Merlin knows he'd been craving time alone from his parents and the others who'd invaded his home for the entire summer. But he couldn't help the lonely fear that had settled like lead in his stomach, which told him it might be easier to distract himself if he had others to impress or gloat over in the room. It might also help if Crabbe and Goyle hadn't started avoiding him, saying he was "falling out of favor," and spending more time with Pansy on their own. He didn't mind getting away from Pansy, that was sure- the simpering girl had hung on him like an overused cloak for years. Though they'd once been promised to one another, and she'd been an agreeable snogging partner for the better part of fifth year, he'd felt bored and cramped by her long before her father had called off the engagement, stating he felt the Malfoys were less than admirable in-laws. Draco had been secretly relieved, and Pansy had fussed and whined and cried for him to "do something!"

What he was supposed to do to change two adult Death Eater's minds without even using magic, when he didn't even like her anymore, was beyond him. She had eventually given up and moved on to following Blaise Zabini around like a little wart plaster, and now- well, from the looks of her passing by his window, she'd made a quick change over to some stunning sixth-year boy with blonde hair and blue eyes. _Typical Pansy_, he scoffed to himself, turning to watch the younger ones who passed by his empty compartment.

The entire school, minus a good fifth of the population (had the Mudbloods really been that plentiful?) and filled with a bunch of older students he didn't recognize were on the train, but it was still the quietest journey he'd ever had. He'd seen enough to gather why- they'd been probity probed twice before getting onto the train, and the bloodtraitors were roughed up a bit by the security guards. If any of them had held day dreams of returning to a normal year at Hogwarts, they were already sorely dashed; the Daily Prophet featuring Snape's position as headmaster had been travelling up and down the halls, accompanied by fearful second and fourth years who were spreading the news about who's uncle had been killed and how so-and-so's family were gone, hopefully in hiding.

He didn't care much what had happened to these missing ones, but the fear and the boredom were really starting to get to him. He'd developed a new nervous habit of running his hands through his hair, and apart from the fact that his mother would have scolded him for a full fifteen minutes if she caught him doing something so common, it made him think of Potter mussing up his rat's nest of a hairdo.

Draco opened the door with a smirk, knowing that one good thing had come of the new regime: Saint Potter and friends would not be on the bus, nor would they grace the halls of Hogwarts. He didn't want them to be killed, he admitted dryly, paying for two pasties from the cart; he just didn't care much what happened to them. As it was, after watching his mother and father being punished all summer, and being Crucio'ed several times by Bella and the Dark Lord himself, Draco had felt what was left of his desire to be a Death Eater disappear. He'd kept up a repentant, eager face to Bella and Rookwood at home, offering to do some torturing with the prisoners in the basement, but once he stunned them, he'd fixed what he could get away with. Their bodies were disgusting, covered in grime and layers of blood and sweat, and their eyes betrayed a level of fear he knew all too well, sometimes glazed over with exhaustion and pain. The Dark Lord may be in charge, yes, but as long as Draco could get away with it, he'd avoid killing and maiming and raping, and just try to disappear. He was sick of war.

The night he'd seen that snake swallow his Muggle Studies teacher, even though he'd never set foot in her classroom, he puked once he got to his private chambers. Bella had wisely followed him, and gave him a stern lecture about stopping his ninnying, complete with several short but agonizingly painful bouts of Crucio. Draco shuddered. Best not to think of that now, he thought, passing the compartment where Longbottom, the Looney girl, and some others were clearly having what could only be called an executive meeting. They were scrunched into the tiny area, ten of them, all sixth and seventh years, and the serious looks on their faces and rigid body language told him all he needed to know.

The Prefect's Carriage door was up ahead, and Draco was already wondering who would be picked for Head Girl, now that Granger was gone. He entered, drawing a gasp that made him want to chuckle inside from two whispering fifth year girls. No doubt his reputation as Dumbledore's killer, whatever they might or might not know about Snape, had preceded him. He tapped his shiny Head Boy badge and stalked to the side of the only girl who didn't have a prefect badge, whose back was turned to him. Her blue-lined robes told him Ravenclaw, and her darker skin told him Padma. _A wise choice_, he complemented Snape, taking in her shapely bottom and remembering that she'd scored high in OWLS behind himself, that Boot kid and Granger. At least it wasn't Pansy. Padma turned to see why her friend had stopped talking just as he'd been ogling the backs of her thighs, and gave him a confused, angry look.

"Wonderful, our Head Boy has finally showed up. Shall we start, then?" she clipped.

The green pastures sailed past, and Draco added his own two cents, telling everyone with his trademark smirk to keep their heads down. After that he let Padma draw up patrol schedules. There'd been a momentary panic when the train stopped and a pair of dementors passed through, turning the windows icy and sucking all warmth from their room. The girls shrieked, but Ernie and a shaking Padma had produced silvery mist and then a Tiger and a regal peacock had chased the dementors down to the back carriage and off the train. "Advance Guards, likely," Ernie had told the others once they'd returned. Draco was still trying to shake off the memory of Bella kicking him across the study, screaming and Crucioing him, while Father watched from the door, a slight frown on his face, but refused to intervene.

The meeting continued with plans for a Halloween ball to perhaps lighten the mood (not that it was really likely, he snorted to himself) and a possible mentor system with the first years to ease their transition. Here Draco put his foot down, pulling Padma aside to point out that there was no way the Carrows, as he informed her, would allow them to shield the most impressionable students. Padma's face went pale as she listened to his terse explanation of who their new teachers were, and then the entire compartment buzzed with the news. Not wanting to seem as though he'd been trying to help, he sat back, watching the countryside pass by, and fiddled with his pocket watch, trying to keep his smirk on his face. The train had soon stopped, and he emerged from the platform quickly, gazing at the Thestrals he'd known he'd be able to see.

It was still a shock, seeing their grey flanks and wirey black necks, but he'd followed three Slytherin sixth years into their carriage, keeping an eye on the skeletal horses. The Carrows, it seemed, were the ones calling for the First Years, and that oaf Hagrid was nowhere to be seen. Once in the Great Hall, a troupe of sniveling, fearful Firsties were led in by Alecto, who smacked two boys for fidgeting as she passed. The Hall was silent, and Draco hated it. Dark green banners covered the back wall, covered with the fifteen "Prohibited" actions his aunt had so enjoyed crafting with Rodolphus. Most, he knew, were reworded from Umbridge's original laws, but there were a select few that had been added at the end. Teachers were prohibited from intervening in the Carrows' work, giving them status above the Heads of House, and students' trunks were to be searched every first of the month. Any student refusing to complete homework for Dark Arts or Muggle Studies would be expelled, and both classes were now compulsory. Once this would have been cause for him to smirk and throw jokes at Potter, but now the thought just made him feel heavy, cold.

Across the Hall the Weasley girl was whispering furiously to Longbottom and Finnigan, and at Ravenclaw, a red-faced Anthony Goldstein seemed to be flexing his fists, clearly trying not to hex someone, though Draco couldn't tell which of the Carrows his eyes were focused on. Snape rose, his silky, dark voice filling the Hall, and the Sorting Hat was placed without song or pretense on first one new Slytherin's head, then three more. It seemed that Gryffindors were in shortage this year, and there were six each in Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. There were fifteen new Slytherins, and Draco clapped for each of them, noting that his house was the only one where emotions other than fear resided.

With a wave of his wand and a glowering, "Commence the Welcome Feast!" Snape finished his speech covering the usuals, though he had noted that Dementors now surrounded the boundaries of the castle grounds, and he warned that all punishment was to be handled by the Carrows and himself until further notice.

Picking over his Treacle Tart, Draco eyed the solemn Hufflepuff table beyond his own rejoicing Slytherin cronies. There was an entire fourth of the table missing, and it was likewise with Ravenclaw and Gryffindor. Snape's dark eyes met his own, scrutinizing him, and Draco flushed just slightly. He was here because Snape had insisted, and he would have to be extremely cautious around the new Headmaster. His Godfather was a brilliant, detail oriented man; he knew this from years of potions classes and now, watching his eyes sweep over the Gryffindors, who were rather subdued, Draco felt a shiver he couldn't control. The worst possible person to be a Head Boy under was now the Headmaster, and Snape would miss nothing if he tried anything other than following the Dark Lord's wishes. Not only did he have his Father and Bella's expectations, now he had to keep his guard up under the watchful eyes of a man who had murdered the only one the Dark Lord feared. Draco pushed back from the table and strode into the welcome gloom of the hallway. His face felt unpleasantly flushed and clammy, and his mouth had dried up the second he'd put down his goblet. His mother had been at home to stop Bella when she went too far, but there was no one now who could keep Snape in line, and though poisons and persuasive words were more his style, they were still as deadly as Bella's lunacy. Loosening his collar, he strode towards the dungeons to think in his bed.


	6. Secret Keepers, Secret Leaders

6

Michael

Heads turned away, hundreds of faces that grimaced or shuddered as one in foresight.

"PLEASE! S-STOP! PLEA- OH GOD! NO! NO! AHHH! S-STOP!" came the piercing screams. A few seconds of whimpering were covered by Alecto's rolling laugh, and punctuated by the tapping of a wand against cold stone. The wand lifted again, every eye fixed to its tip, expecting the inevitable and fearing it's completion. Blood red light shot out, and the tiny body writhed in pain on the ground, bending his back in ways only a gymnast could usually accomplish. Alecto's wand flicked upward, a grin plastered across her pasty face, and the trembling figure rose into the air, his head bobbing twelve feet off the ground, going red as blood rushed from his feet to come rushing out his broken nose.

Michael flexed his fists balled by his sides. His father had taught him very little before disappearing, but one thing had always stuck: you don't attack someone behind their back. Watching Michael fire a stinging hex at his sleeping brother when he'd been told to share his toy dragon, his father had wasted no time in hauling him up and spanking him like a common Muggle. Then he'd pulled Michael up by his wand, twirling him a few times. At eight it did the job intended, and Michael remembered crying for a good four minutes before his father set him down.

"Could your brother have stopped you?" he asked solemnly.

"N-n-no," Michael blubbered.

"Did I scare you?"

"Y-yes."

"No son of mine will attack a foe who cannot fight back. You give your opponent respect. Cowards are the ones who hit a man when he's sleeping."

"Yes Daddy. But w-why did you have to s-spin me?" Michael cried through a snot-filled nose.

"Now you know how your little brother feels when you attack him: helpless. Doesn't feel too nice, does it?"

He'd left Michael to his thoughts. When he'd disappeared on the eve of Michael's eleventh birthday, never to be seen again, Michael had known that his father had been caught sleeping by a coward. It was sick, he thought to himself, watching the poor boy hang upside down, chocking on his own blood. A line of droplets splattered onto the floor of the Great Hall, resounding throughout the silent chamber. Alecto's grin deepened as she turned to face the rest of the students. Michael saw girls flinching under her toothy gaze and jaw muscles clench on the Ravenclaw boys. Each tried to avoid her eyes, and yet they couldn't pull their eyes from the spectacle she'd provided: a First Year boy, sobbing and shaking, twirling slowly like a demented Christmas ornament.

"THIS is Jeremiah Kelnich; a Ravenclaw, a Half Blood, and a traitor to the Dark Lord. He refuses to tell Professor Carrow and I where his filthy Mudblood mother is hiding, even though Mr. Filch intercepted his letter to her written in his own hand. His mother is a disgrace to the name of Kelnich; she has destroyed their heritage with her dirty blood and poisoned minds with her talk of rights for the Merpeople. Let this be a lesson to you all: Turn in those who dishonor the Dark Lord's cause, and you will be rewarded. Hide them or your connections to them, and you will pay. We are monitoring every floo, every entrance, every letter, every package- EVERY ONE OF YOU. You cannot hope to hide your mistakes or earn our mercy."

Michael stiffened as the Slytherin table began to chant "Mudblood! Mudblood!" to Alecto's delight. Snape had clapped twice, signaling quiet, and dismissed the student body from the "special event." Michael looked back at Jeremiah's tiny form; his head was slack and his arms dangled. The boy had fainted. His hands ached to twist Alecto's arm, stun Snape and allow a near-hysterical Pomfrey near her latest charge as she waited, useless, by the north alcove.

Instead he had to comfort himself by holding a sniffling Padma Patil around the shoulders and turning away from the sight of Pomfrey racing forward to let the boy down.

"He's only eleven," Padma whispered hoarsely. "What are we going to do?"

Michael's black eyes held hers stiffly. "I think perhaps it's time we used our positions to our advantage." When Padma looked blank, he walked as quickly as he could without attracting unwanted attention towards Hannah Abbott and Terry Boot, and linked arms with Hannah, signaling Terry over.

"Meet us in the Prefects Bathroom in half an hour. Terry, can you ask Luna to come? Tell her to bring some _Defensive_ friends," Michael spoke lowly. "Hannah, feel free to grab Ernie and the other Hufflepuffs from Hermione's Study Group list we used to have. Password's been set to 'Snakebite' by our dear Head Boy." The others nodded grimly, showing they comprehended, and Padma's eyes were as round as dragon eggs. "Can I bring Parvati?" she whispered. Michael inclined his head, and the two set off towards the Ravenclaw common room to grab some cloaks, making it look like they fancied a walk out about the grounds.

Half an hour later, and assortment of sixth and seventh years dangled their feet into the warm water of the huge bathtub, shooting bubbles out of their wands and trying to laugh off the stress of the last week. It was eight days into term, and already, the Carrows had proven themselves capable of torture worse than Umbridge, and done so in such an open fashion that many questioned why they had ever found Umbridge a danger. Michael looked up and his stomach flipped; Ginny Weasley was walking into the room, swinging long red plaits out of her face, followed by Neville Longbottom. He'd never quite gotten over her, knowing she'd always liked Harry, even when they were seeing each other. Ginny looked tired already, dark circles starting to form under her eyes, and her face was paler than he remembered.

To his surprise, Luna started the meeting, for which he was grateful.

"It's wonderful to see you all after summertime. I'm sure we've all done lots of interesting things this summer and I'd love to hear all about your time on holiday, but I feel an awful lot of WilliNillis hovering nearby, and I think we ought to get right down to it. What do you lot want to do?"

Neville and the others looked contemplative, but Ginny was uncharacteristically silent, and Michael immediately zeroed in on wanting to know why the normally fiery and action-oriented female was opting out. "We have to start training to defend ourselves, for one thing," he offered. "I don't fancy being taught the Dark Arts and having to pretend I like it either."

Heads nodded, and Padma spoke up, "We need to be able to protect others too- I don't want to feel like I can't stop something horrible from happening to people who don't deserve it." Her sister added, "Yes, and we need to decide who to let in this time; that's assuming we're doing what I think we're doing, reforming the DA," she finished.

Silence fell again, and then Zacharias Smith spoke up from the corner. "The DA was all about worshipping Potter. I don't mind learning how to protect myself, but who's going to teach us now that the prat is hiding? And how do we even know You-Know-Who's taken over the school? Sure I don't fancy the Carrows much, but Headmasters have had trouble filling positions before. We don't even know Snape killed Dumbledore. The only one who saw it was Potter and for all we know, he pushed Dumbledore over after his temper exploded and set Snape up to take the fall. Which I don't think any of us having any trouble believ-"

With a sudden bang, Zacharias was flung against the back wall, and he crumpled to the ground.

"ANYBODY who thinks Harry was capable of killing another human being, let alone the closest mentor he's had, raise their hand!" Ginny demanded. She'd stood up as she threw her hex at Zacharias, who never had a chance Michael knew once he'd fired Ginny up. Bogeys attacked his face, but Zach was out cold. Not that anyone seemed to mind. Neville, for one, was looking at him with something akin to distaste one would associate with throw up, and Parvati was clearly contemplating adding her own favorite to Ginny's bat bogeys.

"I think we all know what we need to do. We have a responsibility as the oldest of the students to protect the younger ones from what is surely going to be a horrible year. We have a duty to make life a living hell for Snape and the Carrows, and we have the necessity of training ourselves for combat once we leave the school, since it's sure to find us even if we don't want it to," Michael offered. Against the wall, the twins were nodding, Hannah looked resolved, and the handful of others had stopped splashing water long ago in favor of more serious contemplation.

"Ginny, what do you think? Yeh'r awfully quiet for bein' Potter's girlfriend," Seamus pushed. Ginny looked at the ground, and then met his eyes. "I think it's going to be a lot more dangerous than most of you realize. I think there are things we're risking that seem like a game now, that you'll quickly discover are terrifying when you wonder if you've lost them: friends, limbs, lives . . . and I think, no, I know- that I am not Harry's girlfriend. I haven't been for months, Seamus, you know that."

"Ginny, I think we might not have fought like you and Neville- and Luna- have," Terry corrected himself, "But that doesn't mean we want peace any less. That doesn't mean we don't realize we're risking our lives, maybe our families, and certainly our chances at finishing our education- by doing this. I think that all of us being here means we're serious about taking a stand- even if we get cursed in the process."

"And don't try to tell me for a minute that Potter split with you because of anything other than him being a noble, redheaded-saving prat!" Lavender smirked. "Ron doesn't really have spattergroit, does he? My Mum's a healer and she said it'd take weeks and weeks to reach his vocal chords. I think he and Hermione are on the run with Harry, and I think they've got plans. Ron was always saying Harry was going to need him soon. I just thought it was talk, you know, to impress me. I don't think so anymore."

Ginny gave the others a long look. "Well," she said carefully, "As far as the Carrows know, Hermione is in hiding with her family and Ron is in bed while my Mum helps him recover. And I don't know where Harry is, or what his plans are, because he broke up with me. I do, however, have some good guesses, and I do want to help- more than anything. I just want you all to know that this isn't going to be like last time. This is going to be fighting for our lives, maybe. It's only a matter of time before Snape or the Carrows crack and start looking for our blood- especially if we give them reason to."

"So what you're saying is, we need to show discretion- hit them quick and quiet, leave no tracks behind- we need to be untraceable. They can't be able to see our faces or know it's us," Neville suggested, Ginny nodding in approval.

"And most importantly: we have to let the school know we're still here and still recruiting, but without one of us shouting it out and becoming a target," she reminded. Parvati let out a squeal, jumping up to a blank wall that appeared and pulling out what Michael realized was a tube of the sticky stuff he hated having girls wear when he was kissing them. "If we put a sticking charm on the gloss and destroy it afterwards, they can't trace it to a wand- and we can write anything we want," she added, looping a graceful "D" followed by a curvy "A" and an angled "Still Recruiting!" below. As the crowd watched, the lip gloss strokes faded to a turquoise and blue, then flashed as they became permanent, glowing on their own. "Brilliant!" Seamus offered. "I always knew that stuff would come in handy for something, even if it tastes gross." Some of the other gents chuckled, and Michael picked up Parvati's purse. "You have others?" he asked.

"Of course. No girl carries just a single tube, you've got to have _selections_," she explained, as if it were obvious. Ginny cleared her throat from the corner and Padma giggled, admitting that perhaps this was true for her and her sister, but not ALL girls. "What else can we use that can't be traced?" Terry asked. "Does anyone have that nail color stuff you lot paint on toes and fingers?"

Within the next half hour, fifteen pots of nail color had been Accio'ed or pulled from purses and rucksacks, and Michael stared at the proto-types for different messages that covered every wall. A sign-up sheet had gone around, listing a pair and their chosen location, which Luna had begun listing by size of wall space and frequency of passing students. "We've got to make sure these can't be seen until the early morning- we don't want to get caught leaving them. Any way to make the paint appear by password, Luna?" asked Neville.

"I think that we can tie them into the coins- make them disappear into the stone walls until Gin activates them all with the coin. It's a simple enough incantation, we just need to ensure we all signal her with our coins to ensure they're all set and we're back in our common rooms," Michael suggested. Luna looked thoughtful.

"I think what Michael also brings up is our need for a vote. Do we want Ginny for leader?" Ginny flushed and shook her head no. "I dunno that it's best- I can do the Fidelius charm to hide our names from the Carrows, so they can't question any of us for information, but they're going to suspect a Gryffindor. Plus my family and I are already tied to Harry; Snape will be expecting this. And Neville and Seamus haven't exactly endeared themselves to the new regime, what with getting beaten up last week for talking back in Muggle Studies. Luna's out because of her father printing the truth in the Quibbler."

The room was quiet for a second time. "You can do a Fidelius?" Terry offered weakly. "That's- that's, well, past NEWTS, past most Auror first years . . . it takes a ton of power!"

"Tonks and Hermione worked on it with me. It's not hard if you want to protect whatever it is really badly- it just has to be something you want safe desperately," Ginny answered quietly. "I can be the caster if someone else can be the Secret Keeper. I just think we should spread out our cards- one leader, one Secret Keeper, maybe a strategist, and another in charge of making and distributing coins to new members. And maybe someone in charge of physical training, too," she said thoughtfully.

"I'm assuming you mean so we can tuck and roll and dodge during fights?" Neville asked. Ginny nodded, "We'll need to be able to outrun them too- it can make a huge difference.

Luna cleared their paintings on the wall with a wide swoop of her wand.

"So then, how do we want to divide it all? I think we should try to separate things between several houses- that way if we're attacked by a whombaga the Ravenclaws will be safe, and if it's a frigit, the Gryffindors will be fine."

"Erm, well- I can handle the Protean and Gemino charms to tie the coins together- and I think I can make them double sided. One side for team messages from the leaders, and another to send small, personal messages back or from one to another." Anthony said.

"Right, that's one for Ravenclaw. Any other takers?" Neville asked.

Padma stepped forward. "I know I'm already Head Girl, but I'd like to be in charge of setting up a safety program for First and Second years. I think we should have a plan for how to rescue people from detention overnight in the dungeons, and I think with some memory potion to ensure they don't recall who rescued them and a body illusion to take their place for the night, we might be able to make it work. Plus, I can help since I'll have patrols, and I can sign up friendly patrollers for nights when we need to do rescue work."

"That's definitely a good start, but I don't want us to make any moves on that until we know how the dungeons are set up. They're bound to put some guards there, so you'll need to be able to stun them, obliviate them, and then make the illusion good enough that when they "leave" in the morning, the illusion walks like a hurting student. It's a lot of work, and the illusion is a set of pretty complex charms. Plus, we need to know that Snape doesn't have anything in place to detect illusion or other charms that might help students escape. We don't want to risk more students getting put into detention alongside them- at least not without getting in for something good, like yelling "Snape's a greasy git!" at supper," Hannah giggled.

"Good, Hannah- that's great. Good point. Excellent point," Neville stuttered, blushing up his neck and ears. Michael smirked and watched Hannah blush right back. "I think Luna should do us the honor of taking communications- she can get in touch with her dad and find a good way other than just coins for us to contact the outside world. What say you, Luna? We'll need to know what's going on outside, and the truth, too- not that rubbish the Prophet's been printing," Ernie suggested.

"OOo, yes, I'd love to. Daddy will be so proud to know my friends want me to report for them!" Luna agreed. A few suggestions for double-way mirrors, talking patronuses, and other charms and communication devices were discussed, but Luna just smiled and told them she'd find something "really worthwhile!" before the end of the week.

"Hey, what about disguises? I mean, wouldn't it help if the Carrows couldna recognize us or tell our house even if they saw us? And we could cover our faces; my Da was in the-erm- army for Ireland, he said they wore ladies' stockings over their faces to hide their mugs," Seamus advised. "Gin, don't your brothers have those headless hats?" Neville asked.

"Yeah- and I know the spells they used for the shield hats, cloaks and gloves- we can add those to our uniforms, make them help us in our fights!" Ginny cried happily. "Lavender, you have the best fashion sense- pair up with a mate who can give you ideas for the practical side of this, and see what you come up with."

Lavender accepted gratefully and pulled Seamus to a corner, looking delighted when he wrapped an arm around her suggestively and winked. "I love to play dress up," he said throatily, and Michael chuckled to see Lavender shiver. "Sure, Seamus- we all know how much you fancy wearing ladies' pants under your uniform. All that lovely lace, right?" he jabbed at Seamus.

Scowling, Seamus turned away from the laughing crowd, ensconcing himself in a corner with Lavender seated on a footstool next to him.

"Right, so that's that covered, now- we've got disguises, communications between each of us and the outside as well, recruitment- if I'm assuming Parvati and . . . um, Terry? Are going to handle that," Michael continued, seeing Terry lift Parvati's hand in triumph as she giggled. Michael noted then that Terry had an awful lot of lip gloss on him for having been uninterested in the painting they'd practiced. "We still need a Secret Keeper and our head leader, and maybe some house leaders, you know, to spread out recruitment. And we've got Padma taking care of planning our youngster safety program and our jailbreak system."

"So, who's going to work with Padma?" Ernie asked.

"Better be someone who knows potions, 'cause Paddy sure doesn't have the oomph to do memory potions," Parvati teased.

"What are you talking about? I got an O in potions for OWLS!" Padma threw back.

"I'm only teasing Paddy!" Parvati said with a mock guilty look.

"And DON'T call me Paddy! It sounds like a-a plump bum or something," Padma argued.

"I think what Padma really needs is someone to keep her genius in check- someone to make sure she's not missing anything when she starts scheming things. And someone to keep an eye on Malfoy if they have to do rounds together. Might I step in to advise and protect you?" Ernie offered.

"Advice, yes- protect? I think I stopped needing protection the minute I learned how to kill a man with my thumb," Padma grinned. "But it would be nice to have a fellow Prefect tail us during his own rounds so that if Malfoy tries anything stupid, I've got a potential witness on my side."

Ernie nodded his assent and pulled Padma aside to lay down their plans for mentoring scared first years. "Remember, we might be in need of taking on the Slytherin firsties to help ensure they're not poisoned by their house," Padma added quietly. "Perhaps we might use them as spies in Slytherin in the future?" Ernie hinted wryly. "Only if their lives aren't compromised when they're caught!" Padma shot back hotly.

"So . . . we still haven't decided . . . Gin, I think you should take the head role. You've got your brothers' inventions to help us pull pranks, lots of power, connections to the Order, and you're Harry's girlfriend . . . doesn't this just seem like a simple, obvious decision?" Michael asked.

"I can't be leader," Ginny said quietly, throwing off the affirmative and agreeing talk from the crowd of students.

"Why?" Neville asked, aghast. "I mean, c'mon Ginny, who else knows what Harry would do in our situation better?"

"Harry is exactly the problem, Neville. If it came to a choice between doing what would keep Harry safe, and doing what would keep the DA safe, I don't know that I could do what was necessary. I'd be slow to make the decision and it would haunt me either way. And the Carrows know I'm close to him; they'll be sure to come after me first once they know the DA is back. I know some things- t-things that I, well, shouldn't- and if they knew," Ginny paused, as the others held their breaths, "it could be dangerous. I can't tell you what it is, because the more people who know, the less likely we are to win this thing. I just know I need to be out of the limelight for a bit."

The room was silent. "Hannah, will you be my Secret Keeper if I'm leader?" Neville asked. The tips of his ears barely tinged pink, a sign of just how serious the moment was.

"Perhaps we should wake Zacharias up and kick him out before we do this," Hannah admitted softly. They enervated him, and after taking a single look around the room, Zach stepped out the door, muttering about "suicide missions".

"Ginny will be our bonder, and Gryffindor's representative. She can train recruits and send messages throughout her house after meetings between the high council," Ernie suggested.

"I nominate Susan Bones for Ravenclaw and Ernie MacMillan for Hufflepuff," Ginny proposed. The motion was seconded by Terry, Michael, and all the other Ravenclaw boys, who Ginny knew found the power inside Susan incredibly sexy.

"What about Slytherin?" Luna asked innocently.

"We don't have any Slytherins in the DA, Luna," Ernie said coldly. "They don't belong in here and we all know it."

"Oh, I don't know about that- they can be awfully useful. Good at lying, good at protecting themselves- sound like the perfect spies on the Carrows to me. They'll never be suspected. We just have to make friends with some."

"Ok," Ernie allowed, "So that does make sense, I guess. Who'll handle our spies?"

"I can add that to my communication work. It'll fit in nicely to be able to find covert communication means that won't make other Slytherins suspect who's ours and who's for the Carrows," Luna continued.

"Good, you'll be perfect for that," Ernie agreed, rolling his eyes, and Ginny glared at him.

"So, the bonding then? Are you ready, Hannah? Neville?" Ginny asked. "I need everyone to write their name down on this paper and then their officer position. For example, I'm writing, "Ginny Weasley" then "Gryffindor Liason", because no one, especially not Ernie, can call me a member of a high council. Sounds WAAY too snooty to me," Ginny admitted amongst laughter. Slowly but surely the paper was filled, and the few fifth years and sixth years who'd come but hadn't signed up yet agreed to be second liaisons to help with training in the houses or join the "graffiti group," as Parvati was happily calling it. Michael added his name to Communications with Luna, and then sighed before listing himself as second liason for Ravenclaw, and a jailbreaker. He could use healing spells well enough, but he knew the blood would get to him and he'd really much rather be teaching others how to transfigure wine glasses to rebound their opponent's spells.

The 5 sixth year boys all signed up to be "jailbreakers" under Terry and Padma, and two sixth year girls from Hufflepuff signed up to join the "disguise committee". The fifth year girl who captained Ravenclaw's quidditch, Abbey, listed herself as a "Physical Trainer, Women's," while Hufflepuff's Beater, a friend of Ernie's named Yulang, listed himself as the Men's. Under a separate heading, Luna had written "Slytherin Liasons" in purple bubble letters and Hannah Abbott had scrawled her name, followed by "Secret Keeper" and "Resident Healer".

"Good idea! I pinched some books and supplies from home- we'll need to know how to help injured students! We can study that alongside training new DA members how to duel!" Ginny congratulated. Ginny signed up as "Resident Healer, Gryffindor," alongside her Liason post and Susan Bones added her name as "Resident Healer, Ravenclaw," next to her Liason position.

"So, we're all ready now? Got our positions and our ideas for the next meeting? We'll need to figure out how to use the Room again, Neville- you'll be in charge of that- because we can't keep meeting in the Prefect's bathroom, as fun as the bubbles are. We need it to be safe though- no loopholes, no way for the Carrows or any spies to get in," Ginny requested, and Hannah nodded, insisting, "Yeah, and make sure we can get safely from the DA room to the House Common rooms- I think if you ask the room for a one-way portal, it'll make a door appear. We just need to ask it to camouflage the door so no one sees us coming in. That'll be a bit trickier."

Neville nodded, gulping, as Hannah and Ginny took hold of his hand, forming a pile of three between their bodies. Ginny waved her wand over the parchment, muttering, reading off the list, and then directed it at Neville as their leader. Slowly but surely, gold lines floated over the bodies of the students, washing over them like sunlight on a warm day by the lake. Parvati sighed happily and then giggled when Anthony wouldn't stop fidgeting.

"What, it tickles!" he defended.

"Shh!" Ernie hissed.

Ginny swept her wand, declaring the people in the room sealed by common spirit to meet in the Room of Requirement for Dumbledore's Army. She asked that their membership be kept secret from all outsiders, from insiders who tried to name them as a member, and from Imperious Curses and Veritaserum. Her wand circled over Neville, tying him to the DA as leader, and tying the members to respect his actions and decisions, and to keep no secrets pertaining to the DA from the leader. Then she cast silver circles around Hannah, looping her wand over their heads again and again.

"I need everyone to join hands in a circle around us," Ginny spoke faintly. The group moved as if in unison, calmly taking their spots, surrounded by glowing gold fog. Only their faces could be seen, serious, wistful, calm, or curious. Ginny tapped her wand at the interval between each pair of hands and then her wand threw gold and silver sparks out to land on Hannah. Hannah accepted her position, repeating after Ginny that she would keep the Secret of the DA and only reveal it to those who joined the DA. She accepted that her position could be revoked if she misplaced their trust and gave away the secret to a person not allowed in by the rest of the DA. With a final flick of her wand, the occupants of the room were freed of the gold mist, and a bright flash cleared the remains of the magic from the room. Ginny collapsed almost immediately onto a couch, her legs folding up beneath her.

"Easy there," Neville cautioned. "Anyone got some pepper-up potion?"

Ernie checked the time and spluttered as Padma uncorked a small vial and tipped it down a grateful Ginny's throat. "We'll need to be going soon, unless we want to make a personal visit to those dungeons," he declared. In twos and threes, the crowd dispersed, Prefects and Padma each taking a non-prefect student where they could to shelter with a backup story of "patrolling" and catching them in the bathroom or library. Seamus had immediately told Parvati, who replaced Hermione as Prefect, "Jus' tell 'em yeh found me in a broom closet, they'll not question it," he winked.

"But who will I tell them was with you?" Padma asked, confused.

"Ahh, now, who says you found me but did'na join me, lassie?" Seamus teased. A resounding "Ouch!" rang out across the hallway as Padma's jinx hit Seamus, followed by Ernie's perpetual hiss of "SHH!"

"Aw, shove it now, Madam Pince," Michael whispered, leaving for the Ravenclaw common room with three sixth years, Susan, and Terry in tow. Anthony waved off, pointing to the library, and Michael rolled his head, knowing he was going back to grab a last minute book on Protean Charms at the risk of being out after curfew. Being a Ravenclaw, he understood- man lived not by bread alone, but by satisfying his curiosity with books, as the seventh year boys had always told one another. At the same time, if one of the Carrows caught him, he'd have detention for so long that the book would be due back before he even got to open it.

Michael pulled himself onto his four-poster, his mind buzzing with ideas. For the first time since he'd set foot in Hogwarts this year, he had something to feel good about. They had a lot of work to do- but it was a start, he told himself happily- a start- and soon, he'd be able to do more than just sit there when the Carrows attacked another student. Soon, he'd be able to fight- and Ginny would be watching, he reminded himself happily. Yes, it was a start.


	7. Pistachio Pudding Day

7

Luna

Today was Thursday; pistachio pudding. The house elves only carried it once a month. The first Thursday was orange and cream, the second pistachio or hazelnut, the third was something strange called crème brulee that all the other girls proclaimed was to die for, but Luna found just tasted like a bit of coffee and some thick cream, and the fourth Thursday was always a cherry flavor that had more in common with cherry licorice than cherry pie. As such, Luna ignored cherry altogether, and found the crème brulee flavor less than appealing, but pistachio Thursday was dear to her heart and as such, merited celebration.

This Thursday she'd opted for her peanut-earrings, the ones with the tiny faces painted on, which she accessorized with a necklace of shrivelfigs. Neville had given her a few to add to her collection of useful plants, and she'd dried them and stored them on a chain, hoping it might make a useful snack if she was in a test and found her blood sugar dropping. Why more people didn't invest in edible clothing, she could hardly understand. The peanuts would certainly be good protein once she decided which one was less cute, and therefore easier to sacrifice. For now, they dangled, five pairs of peanuts stacked on one side, and four on the other (she'd gotten a bit peaky after Transfiguration) and gently swayed against her neck when she pulled her hair up into a ponytail and secured it with her wand. Peanut oil was always good for skin, too, Daddy had told her- very moisturizing.

Other than the rather disturbing attempts by the Carrows to subdue the school through making examples of one student or another, it had been a decent term so far. She had more friends than she'd ever dreamed of making, and Ginny and Susan were becoming very close to her. She'd resolved to add a painting of Susan wearing one of Luna's own thistle and berry wreaths on her head to her bedroom wall at home during the Holidays, as Susan had a bluebird patronus and might like attracting them with the berries. _In fact_, Luna mused, _she might make Susan a wreath of her own for Christmas_ . . . but it was still a long way away.

Her own afternoon had been disappointing, mostly because Thursday was when her beloved Quibbler was printed, and though Daddy had managed to sneak her one disguised as a stack of paper crowns the week before (she'd always been fascinated by folding origami and paper snowflakes) she'd received no copy in this morning's post, and had the nasty feeling that the papers she'd seen Amycus shredding as he watched her for signs of distress was her weekly copy. Daddy would be most displeased if he knew someone was mistreating a source of news so viciously- it wasn't as if the paper could defend itself from violent attacks (unless they came in verbal form)!

But Luna knew that though it was nice to have a copy she could pass around, she'd still have the inside of her trunk wall that changed to show her the weekly spread. Daddy always sent her his notes and the unpublished works the week before printing, and they appeared at her incantation on the left handed side of the trunk, a flap she could unfold and write her commentary on when her father wished for help with editing. Her changes appeared in red ink on his leather stack at home, and he could charm them mark-by-mark to either disappear or march onto the finished copy on the press. He did seem to like her writing style, though Luna wondered if it was because it mirrored her mother's use of verbs and subjunctive.

She'd already listed this week's feature articles on the inside of the stalls in the girls' restrooms, hoping that at least a few people would see her nice new purple sharpie, courtesy of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, and would feel happy at the sight of the purple color that they wouldn't mention it to the teachers. It seemed a bit dry without any news of their ongoing search for the Crumple Horned Snorkack, but Luna knew that the war would take priority. So far, there was a casualty list for the last week, including several Goblins who'd fled Gringotts (though Luna was not convinced they had done so for any reason other than the Troloper insects she'd feared might be buzzing about the underground passages, freezing any Goblins they wanted to with their stingers). This week her biggest disappointment had been that the weekly crossword was not available, since Daddy didn't ever update her leather trunk fold with that, claiming she should learn patience by waiting for the Thursday edition.

Luna walked the hall by the painting of Silas the Stupid, her lovely new shoes clacking just slightly as she passed Goyle and Crabbe lingering suspiciously near a tapestry she knew hid a door to the kitchens behind it. She'd been wondering if they knew about the spot, and not wanting to underestimate them (which honestly, everyone else seemed to do!) she had pinned tiny pinecones to their jackets during Dark Arts class, which Ravenclaw had with Slytherin this year, hoping the seeds would fall out if they set foot into the hot passageway. So far, she'd seen no pinecone seeds, and so she knew they'd managed not to find the way to the kitchen yet. Perhaps they'd tickled the pear too much and it had refused them access. She didn't see how anyone their size could have lived at Hogwarts for six years, now almost seven, and not found the kitchens for some late night munching. Her only hope was that they would continue to let the house elves serve their every need, rather than going for a late night jaunt for their hot chocolate.

Coming back to circle the passage, she watched as the Headmaster pulled out of the gargoyle passage, pulling around quickly to reset his password. Luna didn't need extendible ears to realize she might gain something useful, so she summoned the wandless magic she'd been coaxing along to her ears, willing them to magnify the sound. Mother had always held that though wands were useful, they did not embody her magic. She had taught Luna to visualize her own spells pulsing in her body before they were cast, like firefly light, that she could produce on her own, free of any instrument. The years at Hogwarts had dulled her sense of spells terribly, but she was still able to practice the feeling of calling on her own magic during the summer time, and she'd been successful in muting spells just weeks before when, wandless, she'd wanted the printer to stop making such a racket as she tried to get new color-changing ink into the well for a special edition. September was the time that leaves changed, after all, so why not their ink as well? Luna was rewarded for her practicing with a distinct muttering as Snape waved his wand, and then she could hear his voice, magnified, as though he whispered right against her ear:

"Gustave, I charge you to protect this passage, allow only entrance to those who speak the password I set now: Lily. This is not to be spoken of from this moment onward until I order you to reset on the next Thursday, at which time I will give you her surname, Evans, to ensure it is I."

Luna did not feel the slightest bit rude listening in, as she often did so around others in order to feel she was participating in society. She did wonder, however, why Snape would wish to use Harry's mother's maiden name, instead of her married surname; perhaps he, too, felt that giving women a second last name was an open invitation to the illusive, frustrating willinillis that seemed to be following the females in the school. She'd noticed a marked increase in the females in her year making fools of themselves by snogging out in the open, sometimes with more than one boy in a week. Only the willinillis could be responsible for creating that kind of hormonal stir, and Snape had to know that the girls were acting strangely. She'd even heard rumors that there was talk of school age marriages, though she expected it was mostly that people romanticized war in order to bear the losses it brought.

It was curious, however, and Luna knew it was worth noting. She listed Snape's password on the top of the next fresh page in her DA notebook, which so far held her notes on the communication methods and the news to announce from the Quibbler at the next meeting Ginny and Neville called. She'd decided against putting a babbling hex on the paper, as it'd be so frustrating to babble the countercurse correctly ever time she wanted to read it, opting for an obscure switching spell. Anyone who wasn't in the DA would see her last notes on the Crumple Horned Snorkack if they looked at her papers. She knew what people thought of her, that she was crazy or addle-minded; if people wanted to make it easier on her by underestimating her, it could only help her. Frankly, she was used to it, and right now, it helped her that her enemies were so narrow-minded.

Snape had not seen her once he'd turned around and stalked off towards the kitchens. She suspected he'd been taking his breakfasts separately for the past week, and she knew why: the Carrows were seated to either side of him, and though she knew no one would ever believe her, they were not his fellows. He kept a considerable distance from them in the halls, opting instead to either tower over them, as they ranked below him, or to ignore them altogether. His body language was most telling; he could not relax in their presence, though in McGonagall's, he had been doing so for years, as though the two were acquaintances, in the very least. Luna had also noted that Harry had carried around Snape's old potions book (it was often funny how useful her skill in matching handwriting was) for the entire year before, and though that one curse he'd thrown at Draco had been a nasty piece of work, she couldn't see how the others thought it meant Snape was _evil_. One spell couldn't decide your destiny!

She shook her head, pulling her lithe form from behind the painting of Silas the Stupid. She had struck up a conversation with him in second year, lonely, and Silas had been so grateful for her respect and kindness he'd allowed her to hide behind him in front of whatever the vault several feet back concealed, whenever she had need. She thanked Silas, asked him to let her know if Snape did indeed reset his password by using Lily's maiden surname, and he agreed, as she was not asking him to give her Snape's new password. Content, she left for the kitchens. She had some work to be done.

Thirteen minutes and two sticky buns later, she emerged from behind the portrait of the bowl of fruit, a happy grin on her face. Luna licked the icing off her fingers. Oh, yes- Ginny would be pleased. Dobby was an excellent find, as well as Winky, who had taken to Luna very well. She'd also found a cousin of Jiggy's, who liked Neville very much and had agreed to come to meetings in the DA room when they summoned his help. They'd especially liked the safety pins she'd offered them, which she'd cast spells on to make them strong and able to change in size. This way they could pin their uniforms on with the clip in any way they chose, and it would grow hot when they were to come to the DA room. If it grew cold, they were to loop their hands around it, concealing it from the eyes of others, and watch as it glowed a certain color: purple for Luna, red for Neville, yellow for Ginny, blue for Susan, and a lovely spearmint green for Ernie. She had matching pins in these same colors for each of her friends to use to summon their helper. If the charm ever gave off a whistle, the elves were to grab Neville and Hannah and hide them in the room immediately. The elves had been excited to help, pleased to be doing something in honor of Dumbledore's memory, and even greater pleased when she told them that under House Elf law, they did not serve Snape, but the school. They were therefore allowed to choose a master or mistress at their own will from the students and staff, or they could choose to serve a house if they so wished. Though not all had felt comfortable doing something they knew the current headmaster would disapprove of, she'd had five volunteers to assist the DA in jailbreaks and security, and two others who agreed to bring refreshments to the DA room if there was ever a need for students to stay in the room long term for their own safety.

Luna knew it was a risk, as they could be forced to reveal that she'd asked them for help, or ordered to follow Snape's orders if they felt their loyalty was to the Headmaster, not the school. She had been reassured by many that as the student's well-being came first, however, that they would not reveal her plans unless expressly ordered to do so, and Winky said cheerfully that it was unlikely Professor Snape would be able to guess which individual student had asked for their help with the DA.

"We is answering yes or no, as Professor Snape commanded us," Winky told Luna firmly. "The Headmaster says we answers all his questions with "Yes, Sir," or "No, Headmaster." He must be commanding us to tell him if Luna Lovegood is asking us to help the DA in order for us to tells him so," Winky informed her further. Luna had felt this secured their plans and had left, promising to call for hot chocolate at the next meeting so the seven volunteers could meet her friends. "They'll be very pleased you've offered to help us," she'd finished, thanking her new friends.

Luna twirled some hair around her polished fingers, securing strands with the bits of snapped rubber bands she'd been saving. She was a firm believer that broken things are never broken; their use has changed. Being a loner herself for many years, she'd known that Professor Snape wasn't dangerous from her second year, when he'd gone down to the Shrieking Shack following Professor Lupin. Angry and hurt, maybe- but he'd still gone down himself to get Harry, Hermione, and Ron to safety instead of summoning the dementors, which would have been far easier to do, and much crueler to Harry. Snape and Lily were listed as partners in potions each year until seventh as they had tied for topping the class and earned the award for best potions student in their class together. She'd seen their picture Slughorn had in his office when she'd gone in the last year to ask him for any spare shrivelfigs for her necklace- Slughorn had it in the back, hoping it would not catch Severus' eye perhaps, but Luna recognized Harry's eyes in Lily's face and put the two together.

It was a revelation, seeing the two as friends, laughing, with Lily's wand blowing green smog and Severus tentatively throwing an arm around her shoulder, smiling shyly. Luna had never seen him smile before, and the difference was . . . nice. She wondered why Snape had never told Harry he'd known his mother, until she realized that perhaps this was not by accident, and Snape disliked Harry for reasons beside Harry's impertinent questions. Why did he hate Harry so, if he had once been in love with his mother?

It hadn't been that much of a jump to see the two sixth years grow apart somehow in her mind, to watch something change their relationship, and Snape become embittered by her rejection or lack of returning his affections. Harry would have been a slap in the face for Severus, yet Luna remembered several occasions where Snape had gone out of his way to ensure Harry remained unharmed. She'd long ago decided that Professor Snape was confusing, surely- but never a murderer. And certainly not a Death Eater, though she knew from Ginny he had the Mark. Luna knew that people make mistakes, and she was willing to look past Snape's broken exterior to see the uses he might have found once his best friend had died. It was sad, seeing him continue to mourn what he could not change, but Luna knew that he chose his guilt the same way he'd chosen to kill Dumbledore- because the alternative was not an option for him. She'd often wondered how Dumbledore had convinced him to do it, though she guessed she might never know.

Never knowing was something she could be content with. Luna was used to wondering and puzzling- she didn't mind a challenge. Unraveling Professor Snape had occupied her mind for years, and understanding his self-hatred was always a nice distraction when she got bored in class. She knew all too well how it felt to be picked on, to want to lash out at those who called you names. She doubted the others would ever share her opinion that Snape was still loyal to Dumbledore, still protecting Harry in his own way- but since that was the way he seemed to want things, she could leave well enough alone.

Luna skipped into the Room of Requirement, startling a Neville who looked wary of being proud of his accomplishment. Ginny followed her in cautiously, taking note of the lovely purple clouds Luna had asked the Room to add to the ceiling. "It's a good job, Neville," Luna offered cheerfully once he'd listed all the things he'd asked. Luna added the Room's provisions and safety measures to her notebook, right below the note on Snape's Password. Yes, his secrets could wait for another day. For now, she'd be happy to have something to think on.


	8. Preparing For War

8

Hannah

By the second Sunday of the term, the leaves surrounding the castle were glorious reds, golds, and blazing oranges. Soft, buttery yellow flowers lined the outside of Greenhouse 4, where Hannah was knee-deep in some potting she'd been meaning to do. Taking her new post as Resident Healer for Hufflepuff to heart, she'd asked Professor Sprout if she had any dittany cuttings that Hannah could use. Sprout had given her an afternoon to grab "whatever she fancied" from Greenhouse 4, which housed the medicinal plants. She'd already spotted wormroot, scarat grass, and several other helpful plants, and with her book open to the healing section, she'd been wandering over the ground for the last two hours, getting progressively dirtier, and trying to get a bit of each of the fourteen excellent choices she'd found available to bring back to the Room. That is, if Neville were finished with it. She wasn't sure what exactly he was doing to change it that took so long, but she knew from years of being his partner in Herbology that Neville worked best at his own pace, uninterrupted by possible critics.

Wiping her sweaty hands on her school skirt, she inspected her work thus far. She'd need more dittany, but within three weeks she could split the plant in half and hope that the cutting would take off again. She had enough dry cuttings already to make the first jar, to keep on hand for bad burns and cuts. There hadn't been any serious incidents since that terrible event in the Great Hall when the Carrows had tortured Jeremiah, but Hannah knew it was only a matter of time. She started to put Fitting Foil on the sides of pots, letting the adhesive bind to keep soil from spilling over the sides when she transported them. The door to the Greenhouse squeaked opened behind her, and Neville's curious, "Hello? Hannah?" filtered in between the leaves that covered her. She knew she was small, but it couldn't be so difficult to find her when he knew the Greenhouse like the back of his hand. Then again, Hannah admitted, memorizing anything had never been one of Neville's strong suits. Suddenly his face grinned at her from behind a group of vines, and Hannah felt her stomach lurch unexpectedly.

"Fancy some help? I thought you might want someone to carry the pots back to the Room. There are an awful lot of them."

"Sure . . . erm, can you wait jus a mo? I'll need to cover these three and then shrink the lot. I don't want anyone to notice what we're bringing in and get any ideas. Can you scourgify me, Neville?"

For some reason, though he complied and began casting cleaning spells at her, Neville was holding an impressive blush. She looked to see where his gaze was resting.

"What's wrong? I haven't got any dirt on my . . ." she questioned.

"No! No, er, I mean, it's fine, you're just fine, just admiring your, erm, skirt- yes, it's a lovely color," Neville cut in hurriedly.

"Neville, it's the same as all the other girls' skirts," Hannah pointed out.

Neville nodded, and Hannah decided to avoid that subject for the time being.

"So, I spent a lot of time this summer in the greenhouses that my Gran keeps," Neville said from behind her. "Oh, really?" Hannah offered. "What did you work with?" She brushed off her fingers one last time and loaded Neville's bookbag down with tiny, covered pots of plants. Her trowel and potting mix she levitated back to the front, and she added her sweaty goggles to the cupboard against the western wall.

"Erm, mostly just the usual household plants for potions and healing, nothing too special. She did let me repot some mandrakes, though- and I didn't think she'd trust me to do it again after I tripped over one last time and it fell out of the pot. I was petrified for a week of the summer before she could get the antidote by post from the apothercary," Neville chuckled.

"Yes, but wasn't that third year? It's not like we'd dealt with them more than once before, and it was an accident," Hannah argued as the two trudged up to the door to the kitchens. During an inspection of what Ginny called "The Marauder's Map," tacked up in the Room, they had discovered that the Elves had a door that led to the grounds for helping Sprout with the plants and washing the windows of the greenhouses. It faded into the stone of the castle wall, but if they counted over six bricks from the west wall and up four, and tapped the block twice, an elf-sized passage would open up and students could crawl into the kitchens. It was a tight fit, especially for Neville, whom Hannah noticed had grown another six inches over the last year. _He might top Ron eventually_, she thought privately.

Neville scuffled ahead of her up the tunnel, and she thought for not the first time that "element of surprise" or not, perhaps it would have been best to deal with attracting attention and go in through the front doors. But once they'd reached the end, Neville jumped down and offered her a hand, and Hannah leapt to join him, her bag swinging down. They'd bumped heads at this tunnel the last time when he'd pulled her down after him, but on this occasion her landing was much more graceful. _Thank Merlin for that_, Hannah reminded herself. She didn't much fancy looking like a clumsy colt in front of Neville, though she couldn't quite figure why it bothered her so.

"So you'll be at the meeting tonight? I got the message on my coin. I figured it meant Anthony got them all figured out and passed around if some younger students had them."

Neville grinned. "It didn't take him long- though he got detention from McGonagall when she caught him in the library after a meeting. I suspect he's working on tying some other communication devices into a loop for the leaders as well- maybe a second chain of stuff that can call for house-liason meetings, or something that's just for one house's members."

"I hope not- I don't fancy having ten things to carry around- one for Healers, one for Liason, one for Hufflepuffs, maybe one for contacting Ginny- it'd be mad. Plus we're more likely to get caught if we have too many- and more likely to lose one too," Hannah added.

"I thought about that and mentioned it to Tony. He said he just wanted something small to use as a warning system for when the Carrows check our baggage- like a ring that gets hot. If it's the coin, they'll have to check for a message, and a ring they would just twist if they don't have a wand on them."

Hannah pulled past the foyer where the door was and let Neville open it for them. He closed his eyes in deep concentration and the door appeared quickly. "You'll be first to see it," he grinned shyly. Hannah patted him on the back. "I'm sure it's lovely, Nev," she smiled.

The hinges that used to creak were gone, and instead, they could walk right through the door as though it weren't even there. "I thought it'd be better if we didn't have to fumble with getting the door open or latching it," Neville offered. Hannah nodded and turned to inspect the new Room of Requirement.

It looked like a Common Room, with two levels- a balcony with a huge set of three windows overlooked the grounds, with two hallways leading off to what Hannah suspected were dormitories for boys and girls. "It's got running water in the bathrooms, too- that was tricky," Neville pointed out. Posters from Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Gryffindor covered the back wall below the balcony in rich yellow, red, and blue, and a dozen squashy brown leather chairs grouped around the common area, settled around tables and rugs. There were four doorways on the bottom level, and Hannah opened the first on the left, not knowing what to expect.

"This is our training room," Neville offered shyly, though Hannah could have done without his explanation. A dozen dummies with targets sat against the back wall, grinning maniacally, and the four walls and floor were padded like a gymnasium. Several dueler's circles were painted onto the ground, some interweaving in fluid, complex designs Hannah had seen in her Defense books, and a vast stretch of bookcases covered the wall with the door. Hannah saw three levers that extended from the ceiling and several buttons next to the nearest shelf.

"What are these for?" she asked Neville, who was examining the titles of one shelf.

"The three levers fire airborne targets for us to shoot at from different places and at varying rates, to practice hitting people off brooms," Neville explained. "The row of green buttons darkens the room; each has a corresponding time of day. The blue row below that, labeled "weather", gives us rain, wind, or snow if we want it, and the set of yellow- yes, those two dials- decide how many dummies duel, and how much power they have. See the numbers on the side? For example, we can put three recruits in a situation where it's dark, raining, and they're being attacked by five very well-trained Death Eaters. Not so good odds. Or, we can give them a warm up, and have them fight off two wounded DE's during daylight. There are four distinct stages of power. The first uses only spells a fourth year would know- like expelliarmus, stupefy, impedimentia- you know, the basics. The second rank lets the dummies send trickier dueling spells, some of which can do damage- cutting spells at their feet, momentary blinding spells, and some minor curses- but they all have the countercurses listed on that parchment," he pointed out. "The third one is where it gets tricky- this is the one that'll be a challenge to all of us older ones. It's where the dummies can "Apparate" across the room- you know, disappear and reappear- but we can't. They can fire spells much faster and it takes more power to get past their shield charms. They can also do more types of shields, so they're harder to beat. There are also some dummies that can do nonverbal on this level. Finally, there's the fourth level. That's got the toughest curses and shields I could find, and loads of dangerous- but not permanent- curses. The dummies go really fast, and it's all nonverbal- plus, two of them- I won't tell you which- but if they get taken out, it signals for the last three backup dummies to appear in their places, kind of like reinforcements would in a battle," Neville continued. Hannah watched him as he gestured, explaining the options the training room presented with her mouth hanging open in shock.

"The Room is set to offer us a different one acre-sized location every time we close the door and set the time and weather- but it can also give us parts of Hogwarts if we ask it to, or locations that people can describe."

There was no other word to describe it: Hannah was speechless. She'd seen the Room do some pretty crazy things, but this was beyond anything she could have ever imagined. Neville was looking at her nervously, his trademark lip-bite curling his bottom lip. She realized he was waiting for her reaction.

"This is bloody fantastic, Nev. This is what you were doing all weekend?" Hannah burst out.

"Well, erm, yes- but I had some help." Neville admitted.

"You can't have gotten it from a teacher, they're not in the DA- and everyone else is working on their first assignments. Who'd you get to help? Is it someone new joining?"

"Well, they aren't exactly in the DA, they're kind of older," he said, and Hannah frowned.

"How do you know you can trust them? Even if they're in the Order, Ginny said-"

"It's not someone who can tell on us. It's my Dad," Neville interrupted.

Hannah looked at him hard. She knew the truth about what had happened to his parents, had known it for several months now, ever since his letter offering her "someone to talk to" after her mum had died in sixth year. It had been one of the only solid memories she had from that time. She sat in the gloom in her closet a week after the funeral, listening to the faint drizzle of rain, and realized as she reread his letter that Neville was right- there were things worse than dying. She liked the small space inside her Mum's closet. It felt comforting, quiet- safe- and for a time, she could envision herself sitting in this closet, munching on crackers like a little girl and reading her favorite books for the rest of her life. So long as no one else came to her home to hurt Father.

Losing her mother had meant losing her childhood; every color had faded from her house in the week following the funeral. The rainbow she'd painted in her bedroom in first year was dulled; the blue china and coffee cups looked pale and washed out. Her mother's Sunday hats, violets and reds- happy colors, she'd called them- were still in the closet, hanging above her, but they made Hannah feel empty. Her mother was gone, never to wear her hats again- and she was never coming back. Neither was the old Hannah.

Neville's gaze dropped as Hannah stepped closer to him and put her hand gently on his arm.

"What do you mean, Neville? I know your Dad couldn't have done all this. He's not at Hogwarts, for starters," she began quietly. "I know," Neville replied softly. "I found some of his notes in the attic when Gran was teaching me how to duel- she said his Auror's field guide was up there. He had a lot of books on wards and his training manual was there- and so was Mum's. I brought them both in my trunk, charmed the covers to resemble some herbology books. I don't reckon the Carrows would let me keep them here if they knew it could teach us how to fight."

"I bet it had lots of good ideas, didn't it," Hannah concurred gently. Neville's eyes were growing red. He coughed, and Hannah turned away for a moment, overwhelmed by the emotions in the room, wanting to give him a moment. She pretended to be eyeing the sneakoscopes on the back table, and then walked back to Neville and their bags.

"So, what else? I saw three other rooms on this level- what other streaks of genius did you come up with?" she teased. Neville chocked out a laugh and pulled the door closed behind them.

"We can unload your plants in the next room, that's the infirmary," he pointed to the second door on the left. From the doorway Hannah could see five beds, each with a bedside table and lamp, and a row of cabinets and a sink across the room. With a few muttered words, a window had materialized at the far end, and a long table where they could set up the plants to keep handy. Hannah pulled each gently from the bag and side by side they arranged them in alphabetical order, returning them to their normal size and peeling off the Fitting Foil covers. Most had made the journey well, though Hannah had always prided herself on her potting skills.

"I put Ginny's healer kit in the cupboard, and then some potions equipment. There's a cauldron under the sink," Neville said, confirming Hannah's earlier suspicions when she saw the burner. "You really thought this all out, didn't you?" Hannah queried. "No one can get in but the DA, no one can name our members, leaders, or plans from the Fidelius, and Snape can't even find the door to know we're using it. This really is fantastic, Nev!"

Neville smiled shyly again, and Hannah's pulse quickened. She sure would like to see more of that grin again. The rest of the tour was brief, but still impressive. A small meeting room, probably for the leaders, was modestly appointed on the second door to the right side of the common room, with a heavy wooden table in the middle surrounded by leather swivel chairs. To the front of the common room, the last door held a small dining area, though no house tables graced the room. Instead smaller tables with groups of four chairs around each dotted the warm space, and Hannah noted with pride that Neville had once more foregone separating the students into houses by using a deep purple for the decorating scheme. Eggplant colored tiles set off rich cherry wood and lilac walls.

"Luna will be happy," Hannah giggled, nudging Neville. "I'm sure she will be," he agreed, though Hannah thought she saw him throw a curious glance at her.

"I thought the Room couldn't supply food," Hannah questioned. "Luna said she'd take care of it, so I decorated the kitchen for her," Neville explained.

"Oh," Hannah responded, looking slightly more put-out than she had minutes before. Neville scratched his head, and then offered her a glass of water. They washed their hands at the sink and Hannah gratefully dabbed generous measures of soap on each of hers, then on Neville's as well. She pulled his grimy hand into her own, scrubbing off the dirt he'd been failing to get.

"I always was good at this- long fingernails," she explained. "Gets the dirt right off!"

Neville seemed transfixed by her small hands massaging his under the spigot, and Hannah rinsed her own off and had to slap him with a towel twice before he shook his head and dried his hands hurriedly.

"I wonder what time it is," Hannah asked, only to see a purple clock emerged out of the wall.

"Quarter to six- we've missed dinner, and the officer's meeting should start soon. Will they be able to find the room?"

Neville put her fears at ease- now that they'd opened it, the others need only walk to the stretch of wall and speak the password he'd sent on the coin: Phoenix. A gold star would appear where the entrance was, invisible to any without a DA coin in their pocket, and they could walk through the entrance as they saw fit. Hannah dragged Neville into the common room and pulled him onto the couch next to her, saying that they could at least pass the next fifteen minutes in Wizard's chess since they had to wait. Neville agreed, plopping down beside her, and a chess board melted up from inside the wooden table. Neville's stomach growled.

"I hope Luna brings those snacks tonight," they both said, and then laughed.

Hannah sighed, moving her first piece and looking proudly at the room that Neville, once her pudgy, forgetful, and somewhat duck-footed friend had created. She felt amazed at the difference. He was still trusting, still honest, still wonderfully adorable and friendly- but now his courage and talents were finally shining through. The change was tangible. He wasn't the same friend she'd met in Greenhouse Three so long ago.

_Really, though, I'm not the same, either,_ she reminded herself. Maybe, if she was lucky- just maybe, if Neville was capable of making this room and becoming the leader she'd always know he was- she could be the girl who helped him through whatever may come.


	9. Hooked to Iced Tea

9

Tonks

Nymphadora Tonks-Lupin was sitting on the front porch swing, something she almost never did, and also sipping ice tea, something she certainly never did. She'd always found the drink bitter and watery whenever her mother had forced her to try a new brew at some ladies' luncheon. Tonks was like her father, and much preferred a butterbeer or a pint of mead now that she was older. She disliked sitting still almost as much as she disliked drinking ice tea. Both seemed to scream things like "propriety," "tradition," and "lady-like behavior." As far as Tonks was concerned, just like her first name, these were the naughtiest, most disgusting swear words she could ever use, and as such, she cursed anyone who happened to use them in her vicinity.

When her mother found her lacking in feminine whiles, her father would tuck her into a hug, telling her that even though she'd bruised herself again, she'd made a new friend, or learned something new- and wasn't it nice to find out something she didn't know yet about herself? As she got older, she found that sometimes, learning wasn't pleasant- like the time she'd found out the Ministry had been wrong about her cousin, and Sirius had been wrongly imprisoned for over a decade. Or that time in fifth year with Devon in Madam Puddifoot's, when she was waiting for him to kiss her, and he asked her if she'd morph into the model on the cover of _Wicked, Wicked Witches_ for their date. She'd discovered what kind of boy she _**didn't**_ need. How about the moment she'd understood what the mediwitch meant by "permanent damage" to her pelvic bone after a prolonged morph on duty? She'd found her limits. Or when Dumbledore had forced her to admit that despite wanting to, she couldn't tell her mother that Sirius was innocent and nearby- because there was too great a chance the information would be leaked. She'd learnt she could keep the most painful of secrets.

When she had come out of her concussion after the Department of Mysteries, she'd discovered that she was in love with Remus- and felt joy fill her when she recognized he loved her too. She'd also learned she didn't take disappointments well when he'd left for a mission tracking the werewolves of London, but she could be endlessly patient while she waited for him to come back to her.

Now, she was beginning to wonder what new skill she could hone with Remus's latest stunt- because really, what good could she learn from him leaving her to help Harry on some fly-off-the-handle-mission (and hey, wasn't SHE supposed to be the Queen of Spontaneity? When had they switched places?) when he'd already left her before? Tonks had long ago figured out how to handle Remus' moods, how to be her own woman, relying on herself for her own happiness when he was away (though it was much easier to be happy when she woke up to his mass huddle against her, groping her bum early in the morning) and how to match her own socks without him there to tell her if the left one was black or really just dark blue. So what was the point in hurting her again?

She'd tried to tell herself it was just a phase, that Remus would "deal" with whatever Harry needed and then he'd be back, but Tonks knew from that resigned look he got that he was leaving her- leaving _them_- for good. He'd sworn never to do it to her again, and yet he was- and for reasons she'd never comprehend. Remus could tell her time and again that she would resent him once people started treating her as scum- "the mate of a werewolf is not a high position in Wizarding society," he'd put it lightly once- but Tonks knew the perspectives of others would never matter to her.

She'd seen persecution firsthand. Aurors who didn't want her as their partner, because her aunt was Bellatrix. Family who called her "Mudblood" or "freak". Kids at school who feared her or laughed at her because she could do something as simple and harmless as lengthening her nose. Adults who saw her bright hair as a sign of immaturity and disrespect. Ministry workers who claimed she shouldn't be allowed a position with the Aurors, because she could kill the Minister himself and change her face afterwards in mere seconds. _Shape-shifter_, they spat at her. _Morph-manic_. _Freak_.

Tonks had heard them all, and she had forgotten what it was like to care about the names and words people who didn't matter threw at her. She'd shed every inch of self-image that labeled her "weird," "stupid," or "unworthy," knowing that in most cases, they were jealous. She could do all sorts of things most humans could never dream, and she saw it for what it was: a blessing. Her father had always warned her never to morph to such an extreme or for so long that she forgot who she was inside. Tonks wore official Ministry robes and had dated five blokes by the time she appreciated he hadn't meant just her body.

Remus had been the first person, apart from her parents, Dumbledore, and Charlie Weasley, who'd never asked her to change herself. All the blokes she'd dated had done it at one time or another, figuring they could add a bit of blonde to her hair, take an inch or two off her waist- have the perfect girl, really, since she could transform every night. When they started making requests, she knew it was time to ditch them. Girls had snottily asked her what her "real" form was as she stood there in jeans and sneakers, and refused to believe her when she let her hair morph to normal and pronounced herself "au natural!" with some spunk. Even the Order members had wanted to see what she was capable of, though these had been more polite, work-related questions. Sirius too had been guilty, wanting to see how thin she could stretch- could she make herself flat as a pancake? Could she slip between bars, break out of jail? Could she balloon out to float away on the wind?

Charlie Weasley had figured out in second year how uncomfortable it made her, because she hadn't yet learned how to morph away a blush before it appeared. He'd become her protector, and though they'd dated in sixth, it had never quite progressed beyond the best of friends. Kissing him had been nice. Just nice. Never what Tonks knew kissing was supposed to feel- a rushing, sweeping, overpowering feeling that Remus evoked with a barest brush of his lips against hers.

Now, they weren't just an "_us_". They were Dora and Remus, husband and wife- and _something else_- a little one who was currently swimming in her belly, bouncing on her bladder from time to time that was filled with three glasses of the ice tea she hated. Maybe if she drank lots of it, it would be enough penance for whatever she'd done wrong to deserve this torture, and Remus would come back? No, she shook her head. It didn't work like that.

Tonks knew when she was out of sorts. Not just because she couldn't morph right, but also because of the telltale signs: drinking bloody ice tea, sitting in one spot for more than three minutes, looking wistful, and crying. Lots and lots of big elephant tears. She'd cried more in the last three days since Remus had packed his rucksack than in the entire year they'd spent apart, hurting and fighting. She'd sobbed more than when Sirius died. Tonks was so sick of crying, she'd started crying because she hated crying.

Molly had brought bagels and turkey for sandwiches. One look at Tonks' face, and Molly began to make a pot of tea with her jaw set. Tonks was sure Charlie had sent her the tear-stained letter she'd owled to him the day before, though how word travelled that fast to Molly Weasley's ears, she'd never grasp. Still, it was with relief that she cried into her cup of tea, feeling Molly rub her back and scowl at Remus' favorite pot holder as though it had personally affronted her. Getting it out felt good, but once it was out, where did it all go? Where did all her energy disappear to once she was all cried out? Molly spoke soothing words, never asking for details, not even pausing once when Tonks alluded she knew where Ron, Harry, and Hermione were staying. She did what Tonks' mother and father could never do: she did not insult Remus or tell her what she should do. Molly asked her how she felt, drew out her responses and her feelings about their relationship, and let her think it over on her own. Then she startled Tonks with her low confession.

"I left Arthur once, when Bill, Charlie and Percy were little ones. Barely old enough to do up their shoes. Bill was six, Charlie was four. Percy was breaking his first tooth. I was pregnant with the twins. We'd fought over warding the house; I wanted him home, back with me and the boys, because Gideon and Fabian had just been murdered. He wouldn't leave his job. He said he wouldn't hide away with me even if it made us both feel safer. We needed to move on with our lives. Arthur wanted me to find a way to feel normal. I was scared, and I packed up the boys one night after a bad fight. He was out by the pond. I didn't even leave a note, I was so angry. I went to my parent's home for three days. Arthur's frantic owl found me that night, and when I told him to leave us alone, he sent me a new letter pleading with me to talk every hour until I came home. Sometimes things hit us and we take some time to recover, and maybe that's what is happening now with Remus. Maybe you two will recover together, and maybe you won't. I hope you can feel strong on your own, though, if he can't be strong for you." Tonks had nodded, silent tears streaking her papery cheeks. She hoped Molly was right. Molly promised to visit the next day, but she wasn't the only one who stopped at the Tonks-Lupin cottage.

Mum had flown in, dropping off more of that horribly delicious cheesecake that tasted like moist dirt when Tonks was sad, and offering to have her only daughter stay at home. Tonks knew Andromeda was lonely with her father on the run, but somehow, staying at her childhood home felt like erasing the memory of moving in with Remus. It felt as though she was saying she belonged there, sitting at home with the other women, while the men ran off to do brave, stupid, manly things.

Tonks thought about moving in with her mother for safety, and she felt it erasing their big bed with the blue and white striped sheets. She thought about how much easier it would be to have her mother cooking dinner, and it erased their marriage vows. She tried to reason with herself, saying that handling a baby alone would be madness, and she could see it wiping away their long evenings on the porch, where Remus would rock in the swing with a book as Tonks was doing now.

She'd tried reading to the baby bulge, hoping to fill the silence, but the sound of her own voice wavering as she struggled with the Latin words Remus would have pronounced with finesse made her start weeping afresh. She'd picked his translation of the Three Little Pigs, and the part with the big, bad wolf was just too ironic for her to handle in her baby-stress state. Where the story once would have made her laugh and chortle alongside her _husband_, now she felt limp and drained. Who was she to raise a baby on her own- _their baby_- who should have Remus' voice tell him bedtime stories, Remus' hands wash him, Remus' legs to cling to?

_When_ . . . no, _If he came back_ . . .

No, _WHEN he came back_, she was going to hit every inch of his deplorably annoying, heavenly delicious body with bat-bogey hexes so powerful he'd be blowing his nose still when the baby came. And then, she was going to jump him, tie him to her, and never let him go.

Not even to the loo.


	10. Neville's Big Moment

10

Neville

The bathroom stalls were full, and he was debating whether or not he should kip up to the men's loo on the floor above, or wait for one to empty. There was a science, he held, to how long one should wait. Stand there too long, and they'd joke that you were watching them, and call you a pervert, even if you were just waiting, minding your own business, wanting to have a leak. Move out of the room too fast to find an empty upstairs and the bastards would joke once you left that you were afraid of showing off your tiny prick. It was a lose-lose situation, one he knew all too well, having been the butt of jokes like this for years.

In his sixth year, though, things had started to adjust. By the beginning of sixth he'd seen a marked upturn in positive attention, and the teasing had become more agreeable, good-natured, instead of nasty. He only got pranked by a single bloke younger than him during the entire term, and most of his own class seemed to be backing off, with the exception of the Slytherins. He'd figured they'd likely never respect him, but it was still strange to see some of them stop making moves to pick on him, watch him with curious eyes, as if wondering what he was capable of. Then this year, he'd come back to school to be surrounded by idolizing second and third years, who showered him with questions like he was Harry Bloody Potter. Fourth years had asked him to tutor them in Herbology (at Professor Sprout's suggestion!) girls in fifth and sixth were twirling their hair and smiling at him, and the boys in his grade had been slapping him on the back in the halls after class. He hadn't had a single comment about his forgetfulness or a solitary trip jinx shot at him yet- and come to think of it, he hadn't run into any trees around Hannah Abbott (or any other girl for that matter) for months!

Yes, Seventh Year was turning out pretty good for Neville Longbottom. Except for the part where Death Eaters were in control of his school, torture was an everyday part of lectures, and he was the leader of an ultra-illegal revolutionary student fighting force. Him. Neville Longbottom. And he still had no idea how to ask Hannah Abbott out, or where, in the middle of a war, you could ask a girl to go out with you to, or how you were supposed to make a move on her when you might very well get attacked on said date . . .

Ok, so things weren't exactly peachy. He had some work to do.

Still, all in all, it was a fantastic start for a bloke who'd still never kissed a girl at seventeen and chose to coordinate his outfits before nightfall to make sure he never forgot to wear pants. He was pretty sure Hannah had been flirting with him last Tuesday during charms, too, when he'd sent a cheering charm at her by accident and she'd said she never needed one around him.

The rush that had given him had knocked him into heaven for the next three periods, with the result that by the time he got around to putting together his notes for the officer's meeting the next day, he'd spent his entire free period day dreaming about other things he could do to cheer Hannah up, and had to finish an entire Astronomy essay literally by moonlight. Then, after four hours of sleep and burnt toast, he'd had a double Dark Arts class, where his crankiness had led to mouthing off, and mouthing off had led to the lovely four-inch long cut he was now sporting on his shoulder.

Double Dark Arts had been followed by missing-lunch-to-get-dittany, after which he had to run to Herbology, and Hannah had panicked (to both his pleasure and his guilt) when he had been ten minutes late. And he still didn't have his full plans for the officer's meeting complete, which would be pretty hard to concentrate on while sharing a table with Hannah, as she had taken to wearing a vanilla-honey perfume that made him think of Jiggy's Christmas sugar cookies. But Ginny had once told him though that chicks loved scars- so he could only go wrong if he died in the process, right?

Neville crossed the Great Hall, noting with pride that was incredibly difficult to mask the graffiti was still up and blaringly bright on the stone walls. Parvati had taken five volunteers the second Saturday night of October and spray painted "Dumbledore's Army, Still Recruiting", "Snape's a Slimy Git", "Harry Potter is Fighting for Justice", and "Happy Halloween, Moldy-Warts!" to great success. Revealed by a glamour charm at breakfast the week before the Halloween feast, the messages had set the whole castle buzzing and Neville had been flooded with new members wishing to join the DA. The prospective recruits had dropped in number after the Carrows had rounded up Neville, Ginny, Seamus, and two sixth year Gryffindors and subjected them to Veritaserum and the Cruciatus curse. Their tea party hadn't gone as planned, however, since the Fidelius wouldn't let them name anyone involved in the graffiti and none of them had written the messages, so their handwriting didn't match. Ginny and Seamus had even been seen in the library the night before- a solid alibi- but this didn't stop the Carrows from chaining the lot of them in the dungeons without dinner or breakfast for the next day. They'd kicked them a bit, but nothing more, and the anger of the student population at their incarceration had been sweet to Neville's ears.

Snape had been trickier, though, and was proving problematic when it came to planning their next event. They wanted to set off Halloween music celebrating Harry's triumph over Moldy Warts to play from the jack-o-lanterns and perhaps some suits of armor, but so far they'd had no luck finding a charm that the Ravenclaws couldn't find a quick counterjinx for. Wanting the song to last at least a single verse before the Carrows began to cut it off, Neville had set the entire DA to finding a recording device or charm that was sturdy enough and rare enough to withstand a full four minutes of cursing.

He knew it was pushing their luck, but with the disguises almost done, training sessions revealing marked improvement, and Luna's news of elf-help still on his mind, Neville was beginning to feel like being a leader was something he could be good at. Suddenly, the things that had scared him and towered over him were mere hurdles to be jumped as he ran, rather than mountains to huff and heave himself up over. They'd begun physical training, meeting in the room in small groups three mornings a week to do sit-ups, push-ups, pull-ups, and run sprints in the training room. Luna had braided each member their own tri-color jumping rope, which Neville found handy, though he suspected the smiles of thanks from the others might have been a bit less than genuine.

Quidditch had been cancelled when the school refused to back down. More graffiti appeared, this time without the DA's help. The messages were messier but no less creative; one Third year girl had been whipped for her "Alecto Shags Dead Blokes" sign near the fourth floor girl's loo, which had flashing red letters and copious amounts of silver glitter. Filch could often be seen scrubbing the walls while the Carrows walked behind him with their wands aimed at the stubborn paint. Some of the designs had faded, but Neville hoped that the new stunt would put real Halloween cheer in the students' steps. With three days left before Halloween on Friday, he was hard pressed to find a solution fast.

He strode past the Room thrice and walked through the door once the gold star appeared. The Room itself had been a big success, and Ginny, Luna, and Neville had found it challenging to talk most of their forty-eight members out of staying in the Room permanently. They argued that it risked the Room to overuse it, and the secret could be compromised before more recruits had joined. Luna had pointed out in song to the tune of "A Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Love" that it wasn't fair to the other students, who had no safe haven to go to, if they stayed in the Room for the entire year. They also wouldn't be able to leave once they stayed full time. This took away the option to save other students. In the end, Seamus and the others had agreed to wait until at least Christmas before discussing full-time occupancy.

Neville realized it was already in use once he'd entered. It had become commonplace to disrobe and relax in the Room, and many students used it as a study in place of the library or their common rooms, since they could play music, bring snacks, and meet outside their house without fear of the Carrows. A bit of dueling to break up long study sessions was always a welcome addition. Susan Bones, Terry Boot, and Padma were studying Arithmancy on the big three-seat couch, with Terry's books spread across a huge table, and Parvati was lazing in an armchair, her legs over the head and her braids dangling down where her feet should be. Hannah sat in trousers with her white shirt partly unbuttoned and her shoes and socks off, painting her toenails, and talking to Ginny, who was sharing her turquoise pot and brush. Two sixth year boys from Hufflepuff and a girl from Ravenclaw played exploding snap over the balcony, and in the infirmary, Neville could hear Luna and two other voices singing as they painted. She had insisted upon decorating the walls opposite the beds to cheer up future patients, and several of the others had agreed to help. Currently, the theme was to be "Mythical Beasts," though Neville wondered how many beasts there were left that Luna thought were just mythical.

He heard muffled shots from spells and running in the training room, and looked at the blackboard. Once they'd each walked in to a simulation and gotten shot at by the dummies a handful of times, Ginny had suggested they add a blackboard to the door and ask the Room to list the participants inside if it was occupied. Currently, the board showed "Seamus, Elena, Romilda, Anthony, Veroniqua, and Quentin" were "healthy but losing". Neville chuckled and reminded himself to ask Romilda if she remembered the spell that made everlasting confetti, as she had been telling a story about her older sister jumping out of a professional Quidditch player's birthday cake the previous night. Neville was hoping she might know which charm they could use to make streamers and confetti join the unpoppable balloons Ginny had provided from her brothers' shop. The balloons could be spelled to change colors and the multiplied every time someone vanished, banished, or popped them. They would have to be popped by hand individually, and each one, thanks to Luna and Hannah, now flashed the words, "Happy Halloween Moldy-Warts!" in neon purple and yellow letters. They planned to release the music, party décor, and perhaps some good old dancing on Halloween night at the feast, though it was surely a risky move that would bring serious backlash from the Carrows.

Ginny looked up from her toenails and motioned him over, and Neville dropped his bookbag and slid down next to Hannah on the floor.

"Taking a day off, I see?" he teased them.

"We are enjoying a few well earned comforts, thank-you-very-much," Ginny snipped back, downing the rest of her butterbeer. She, like Seamus, was sporting a bruises, and three of the DA fifth years had been "interrogated" by Amycus earlier in the day and were likewise adorned.

"Celebrating something special, then? Got a new boyfriend, Ginny? Or maybe you've had good news from Snape, and he's agreed to sell you his own shampoo potion?"

Ginny smacked Neville lightly as Hannah giggled. "My hair is gorgeous just the way it is, and that's just the way it'll stay," she responded. No one commented on the boyfriend bit, knowing, as always, that Ginny would answer no questions about her relationship (or lack thereof) with Harry.

"We stayed up all night finishing those balloons, and then I had an essay due earlier. Hannah here had two assignments due- fourteen inches on "How to Properly Document Your Bloodline"! I thought after Alecto decided to hex me for asking if she'd doctored up her bloodline chart, I could use a little pick-me-up."

"And we don't have anything stronger, so nail polish and butterbeer will have to do," Hannah chuckled. She put her hands on Neville's and grabbed his notes. "What have you got planned for tonight? Anything new?"

Neville blushed. Touching her still did that to him. "I went through the notes from the last three training sessions, and I want us to start splitting people up into more varied groups. I want people using the simulator from different years together, so the younger ones watch how the older ones take on a challenge, and I want to schedule it a bit more like a class, so we're consistent- lately it's been more the sixth and seventh years who've been using it, and that's great, but we need to vary who we work with. We won't always have all one house or all another."

"That sounds good. Any news from Luna?"

"I expect she'll have more from the Quibbler today- she always does on Tuesday nights. And she was hinting about wanting to talk about accepting Slytherins, too- although I wasn't sure from her language. She could have meant we needed to eat them more often, I guess- she just said they'd go well with butter . . . I don't know if that means they're slippery or delicious," Ginny added, scratching her head, and the other two laughed. Lately the four of them, plus Michael, had been taking on the roles of not just leaders, but heads of entertainment. They encouraged the others to stay in the Room to study and relax, in hopes that it would become a second home and they would form closer ties with those outside of their year and house. Ginny had pointed out several times that if she and Luna hadn't been friends, Luna might never have been in the first DA, because no one else would have known her to invite her.

Neville stretched, casually angling closer to Hannah. He'd been trying to perfect his new idea of reaching around her as if to support himself, and wrapping an arm around her shoulder, to see how she'd take it. Ginny seemed to find his ploy entirely too amusing, however, and would usually start laughing and ruin it before he could get close enough. The three had contemplated having the other seventh and a few select sixth years join them in the Room after the Halloween feast for a late night officer's meeting and a slumber party of sorts, and though the dormitories were upstairs, Neville hoped he'd get a glimpse of Hannah in her pajamas. Or maybe, if he worked up the courage and no one else was around, giving her a goodnight kiss. If he was lucky.

Just then, the training room opened and six sweaty, frustrated students exited. Quentin was hopping on one foot and Veroniqua had a cut lip and a broken nose, but Seamus informed him that they had lasted longer than he'd thought they could on level three in the dark. "We were fightin' six on eight, an' at that rate, yeh'll have a few 'o them on your tail before yeh realize it," he shrugged. Veroniqua slumped out to the infirmary with an exasperated Romilda following her. Seamus wiped his forehead and then straightened suddenly, pointing to the Map hanging above the entrance to the Room.

Since the first day, the one thing that had not changed about the Room was the Map, thusly named, which Ginny had informed them came from a long line of troublemakers including her brothers. Neville had never asked her if Harry was involved, but from the way she'd sighed upon seeing it, he got the feeling there was more than sisterly affection behind the fantastic parchment. Ginny had described the Map (which she claimed she had never owned, but had on several occasions held) to the Room, and the Room, in all it's glory, had acquiesced. Now it hung fifteen feet wide across the wall above the entrance, showing all the rooms and levels of Hogwarts and tiny feet stepping where the people themselves walked. Seamus stepped off towards the Map and the Room grew silent, talking ceasing, as the pair of feet labeled Amycus Carrow slowed to a halt right outside their door.

"Mate, the Room is soundproof, right?" Seamus whispered, as Ginny assured two girls that no one without a DA coin and the password could enter or see inside, or even know if it was being occupied. Neville nodded, wondering if this would be the first time his wards and the Room's loopholes would be tested. Everyone had gathered by now in the front of the Common Room, Luna's music silenced, and she and her two fellow painters were splattered with purples and greens.

"They can't breach it, Nev, don't worry," Hannah said softly from his side. Neville realized he was shaking with worry, and sat on top of a table, continuing to point his wand at the entrance. The feet labeled "Amycus" were pacing back and forth outside the Room, stopping occasionally. When seven minutes passed and nothing changed, Seamus and Terry began to get antsy.

"What if he stays out there all night? What if he posts someone to watch the corridor?"

"If they knew about the Room and thought we were using it, Snape would have done so by now- he'd have found a way to seal it shut, or put a picture to guard it. There's nothing on the walls to report back to him that we're anywhere near here," Neville assured. Inside, however, his intestines squirmed, and he felt his stomach turn over violently. What if Snape had told Amycus to check it out? If Amycus couldn't get in, they would know someone was using the Room, wouldn't they?

Amycus's feet were suddenly joined on the map by Argus Filch, who had run from the floor below. At once, the two pairs of feet took off to the stairs, and Neville breathed a sigh of relief alongside everyone else present.

"Oh! Look! Look what pulled them away!" Susan Bones nearly screamed, gesturing to their terminus. At the bottom of the stairs were the feet labeled Michael Corner, next to Sylvia Whipple, a first year. Sylvia, Neville knew, had been pulled out of Muggle Studies the day before by an irate Alecto, who had taken her to the dungeons after she'd defended her Muggle father. They hadn't heard anything about the little girl since. The stairs immediately to the left of their feet led to the dungeons, and in an instant Neville knew that Michael had done something foolish- brave, but stupid- and now he was going to pay. Neville had scarcely felt so helpless in his life. It was daylight still, and Amycus was staying to punish Michael himself instead of insisting some Slytherins do it for him. Voices behind Neville begged to free Michael, to set up a rescue team, to alert others and take out Amycus, but Neville set his mouth and turned.

"I will not rescue anyone- and I mean ANYONE- who attempts a rescue without alerting the others and getting approval by this team. Michael went in without knowing anything about those dungeons- he's never been locked up in there!- without calling for backup or asking for lookouts. He ran into things without thinking. It sucks, but we can't let that become habit. It endangers us all. We can't put together a rescue team for one impetuous act every time someone becomes overwhelmed and tries to go off on their own, and I want everyone to know that this team works for fighting evil- not just stopping pain. I'm sorry, but that's my order."

Terry and Anthony looked at him coldly, and Padma whimpered before sitting down. The rest of the members, save Ginny and Hannah, looked at him with mixes of confusion, anger, and regret. Ginny stared at him before nodding approvingly and quietly retaking her seat, and Hannah grimaced understandingly. She loped her arm around his, tugging him into an armchair, and Neville sagged into it.

"I just don't see what else we can do in this kind of situation," he mumbled with his hands on his face. Anthony and Terry were watching the feet on the Map as Michael's went flying across the dungeons, smacking into the stone wall twice. The feet moved sporadically, jerking across the floor for a few more minutes, before they went still. Amycus's feet moved to chain Michael to the wall, and Slyvia was placed in a cell towards the back. Terry let out an audible growl and Padma turned to him, whispering furiously, clearly pleading with him to see reason. Terry shook his head and disappeared up to the dormitory, followed by a shaking Anthony, who looked back at Neville in grim acceptance before mounting the stairs. Neville hung his head. What else was he supposed to do? Their hands were tied.

"This does give us some time to come up with a solution for when Amycus decides to try the Room again," Ginny spoke softly. Neville shrugged. The feet of Amycus Carrow were resting in his office, and Neville hoped it would stay that way for a long time.

He felt warmth on his knee and looked up to see Hannah's hand cupping his kneecap. She was leaning over, looking at him worryingly, and Neville met her gaze with sorrow. Hannah's hands slid up his thigh and Neville almost jumped as her soft legs and hips curled up on his lap, her back against the arm rest and his bicep. "I'm sorry, Nev. We'll heal him up. You couldn't have stopped it."

Neville looked down at her hands touching his. They were tiny, with long, delicate fingers, half-moon cuticles. They were free of dirt. Her palms felt soft, warm- lovely- in his hand. He took a gulp and squeezed them once, feeling a pulse of something shoot through his other arm that was now up against her back. She fit perfectly. Hannah's hands began to rub his own, and her fingers traced a callus from using his garden trowel. Her thumb gently loped around his, and he wondered what she was thinking about as she stared at his hand. Her body was a wonderful weight in his lap, with her long legs folded at the knees and her calves and feet dangling off the chair. He met her eyes, and couldn't look away. Hannah's grey-green were fluid, like sea water after it begins to foam, and her blonde hair was curling in tiny ringlets from her pony tail. He felt an inexplicable pull to hold her close, and without thinking, he wrapped his arms around her, closing the gap between them and cuddling her face to his shoulder. Her arms went around his midsection, and fingers palmed over his back, gliding up and down in a soothing stroke. He felt a bit of wetness on his shirt, and realized tears had slipped out of her tightly closed eyes.

"Shh," he whispered, holding her arms. A memory, vague and long forgotten, of being cradled this way before came to him, and he did the only thing he could think of to comfort her. He rocked a bit forward on his hips and then sunk into the chair, and as though the Room had heard his silent request, the chair pivoted slightly forward and then inches back, gently swaying the two of them. His heart rate had quickened, but this was not so bad- and he put his free hand on her head, pulling some of the escaped hairs back towards her pony tail, out of her face. "Shh, Hannah. It's ok." He whispered again.

"I'm not upset about Michael," came her hoarse whisper. Neville looked around, but the Room was empty, and no one was paying them any attention. Luna, Ginny and the others were in the meeting room or the training room, getting in one last simulation.

"What is it, then?" he asked, hoping she'd look at him so he could see if she was ok.

"I can heal Michael, when we can get him out. I can heal anyone they bring in here. I know how to make pain stop and I can fix broken bones, mend arteries . . . mix up antidotes. I've been practicing with Susan and Madam Pomfrey. But when they found Mum, she . . . s-she was all broken-n, a-a-and"

Neville closed his eyes, trying not to picture what Hannah may have seen. "How bad was it?" he asked softly, wondering for a moment where his courage was coming from. "How did she die?"

Hannah hiccupped and another sob slipped out. Neville pulled her closer and rocked her, waiting, and then her answer came so quietly he had to stop rocking to hear it,

"The Aurors said she couldn't have known it was coming. Somebody w-waited until she was going for her evening w-walk, they must h-have known her r-route. She got hit by a c-cutting spell that severed her calves. They silenced her, and s-she was in pain . . . lots of pain. They cut her chest, right through her clothes- a-and they wouldn't show her to me, a-and I was g-glad, b-because it mean-meant I could p-pretend she had a h-heart at-attack!"

Neville pulled her in to his chest, rocking her back and forth, and his own tears slipped out without thought. He had imagined far too many times just how much pain his parents must have been in to go mad the way they had. Having never known them as they had been before, it was tough to imagine what they would have yelled at their captors, whether they would have begged, how they would have moved, spoken, cried . . . but pain seemed the same in any language, and pain was something Neville had experienced for the majority of his life. He cradled Hannah to him, stroking her hair, which had fallen out of its ponytail, rubbing her arms and back, and then he reached down and kissed her forehead without thinking.

"I'm sorry, Hannah. I'm s-sorry they hurt her. And I'm glad you didn't have to see her. She probably would like it better if you remembered her happy, the way you made her feel. Don't think about it, just think about- think about something that reminds you of a time she smiled at you," he paused. He had no such memories to comfort himself with. "Think of what her laugh sounded like. You couldn't have stopped them and they might have killed you too. There wasn't anything you could have done."

Hannah's sobs had stopped, though she sniffled occasionally, and Neville felt her body stop shuddering as it had been. He placed another gentle kiss on her forehead, then hesitated as he looked down at her face and her closed eyes. His face drifted down, reddening slightly, and he pressed his lips softly, so softly, over her left eye, then over her right. They were wet, and tasted slightly salty, and felt supple and smooth under his lips. Hannah's eyes fluttered open after a few seconds, and Neville met her gaze with fear bouncing behind tentative desire.

She looked down, and Neville saw the corner of her lips drift upward ever so slightly, and her cheeks blushed the palest of roses. Neville thought his heart had burst. She ran her hand hesitantly over his, lacing her fingers in between his own, and Neville sat back into the armchair, pulling her form back against him. Right now, he wanted nothing more than to rest. To sit with Hannah curled up on him, to close his eyes, and to feel her breaths go in and out for hours. They had time left to find out what all this meant, and for right now, he'd had enough drama for the night. Tonight, he would make sure she was safe, and relaxed, and as happy as she could be. Tomorrow he'd find out how she felt.


	11. Trick or Treat

11

Alecto

_Damn kids. Pesky little cheeky bastards._ She'd have them begging for mercy with two flicks and out cold in another. When she'd told Yaxley she wanted to teach some blood-traitors a lesson or two firsthand, she hadn't thought he'd take her at her word. Alecto could see herself roving the countryside with the handsome Walden MacNair, catching truants, traitors, and Mudbloods, and cutting them all to pieces limb by limb to sell for parts in Knockturn Alley, if they still took 'em after what she did to 'em, or letting her brother have all the pretty young girls he could want. She had never imagined she'd be stuck inside that infernal school again after all these years, waiting to be jumped by a troupe of bratty kids, planning lessons and swotting the cheeky buggers during lecture for raising their hands with impertinent questions. She graded papers on her Saturdays! She patrolled hallways! She was supposed to be out enjoying some time with a few close friends from Azkaban now that the Dark Lord had given them free reign, and popping in to keep Fenrir in line if he forgot his place.

Instead, she was stuck with Snape and not even lovely Lucius could help her out of her spot now. The Dark Lord had insisted that the brats be given a male and a female role model, and here she and Amycus were, both failures by proxy since they'd let Snape kill Dumbledore instead of the boy. Lovely Lucius should be here, she spat to herself, but he was judged too inferior a role model because his snob of a son chickened out.

Alecto had awakened to a tampered brush that took out chunks of her hair ( she'd Crucio'ed the Patil bitch for that, though she wasn't sure which one) and a Friday morning class of Second Years, who scared easily enough that if she yelled a bit and slapped one, they'd be quiet and read in their books for the whole period. Two had charmed paper spit balls to fly at her, and she'd broken the nose of the first and sent the second howling to the Pomfrey sissy with a bad burn on his hand. He'd think twice before using his wand against her. After break, during which Amycus bothered her, saying he had been accosted by a charmed beater's bat in his office (and did she say the password without checking for anyone yesterday!?) she had a double lecture with half of the sixth years, one of her most unruly bunch.

The Ravenclaws were predictable enough and wouldn't push her if their grades were up in the air, but more and more she found them following the lead of some crazy Gryffindors who seemed to like pain. By the end of the two and a half hour class, the Demelza girl was pale and fainting and the Weasley brat had asked (and been denied four times) to take her to the Infirmary. The lesson had been on how Muggles tortured witches and wizards, and their inefficient, messy methods. Alecto had used a series of deep cutting jinxes, showing the sixth years after each how the opponent lost more and more blood and healing times, even with good spellwork, were slowed. A delicious crimson pool had formed in front of her desk, and she'd been near gleeful when she informed the two girls in the front who looked about to faint that she wanted them to clear up the mess- without magic.

"That's what you get for crying over spilt half-blood, girlies- you get to clean like common Muggle trash," she told them happily. Lunch was next, and she switched glasses with an angry McGonagall, whose nose ballooned up after taking a swig. Smiling smugly, she drank her pumpkin juice, taking in the tables of students to see if any were eyeing her in guilt or frustration. Spying two third years in Hufflepuff who looked likely, she strode off, thinking to practice her cutting hex again, this time for placement. It wouldn't do to get out of practice just because she had to be stuck in this musty castle with these pests. She pulled them out of their seats and dragged the two squirming boys up to the front, so the brats could get a good look at 'em.

"These little maggots put som'thin in my drink, thought to poison me," she growled loudly.

"This is what happens when you threaten a teacher!"

She threw the first two- excellently aimed, she thought in satisfaction, as the blondie on the left spurted blood out his forehead and the dark haired one dropped to the ground, clutching his leg. She chuckled, loving the next part- wrists or pelvis? They were both so rich in blood vessels, so quick to bleed out, so tender- and then a bang sounded behind her and she turned to see the Headmaster levitating the Weasley brat.

"That will be enough, Alecto; I cannot keep them from attacking you while you play again. You, there- take these two to the infirmary. Hagrid, clean up the mess. I will be escorting Miss Weasley down to her cell for the evening."

A slight trail of blood followed the swoop of his black cape out, and Alecto, put out, followed to see if he'd let her give the brats a real Halloween initiation. Perhaps he'd cave if she argued the Slytherins should have some fun, instead of going for the game herself. She could picture a group of six- Crabbe, Goyle, Zabini would do well- maybe Nott, if he had the stomach for it, and the Parkinson girl, and she'd grab a sixth year to even it out- lend them some more "formal" robes for the occasion and the hoods, yes, if they wanted to keep it a secret from their little friends, and release them on the Halloween feast. She'd love to watch them all scream and panic, try to race out of the halls, and then she'd command them to stay if they wanted to live. They would have to sit there, shaking and whimpering, while she watched her kids do some name-calling and grab a few older ones to play in the dungeons. It was just the ticket, she decided to herself, to keep the brats under her thumb for the next few weeks. They had been getting entirely too uppity.

Snape was deceptively fast, she decided, and she quickened her pace as she entered the dungeons. She heard the Weasley brat screaming in pain, and then saw Snape's satisfied smirk as he turned to face her.

"She's had enough. She is pathetically weak, any more and it would break her."

"Maybe just one more go, then," Alecto crowed, smacking her lips together and drawing her wand lovingly down her fingers. "Just a bit of a teaser to keep 'er on 'er toes,"

The redhead pulled her head up, hair swinging back, and though blood was spattered on her face, her red-rimmed eyes were defiant and bold. Yes, this little beauty would be a challenge, and when she broke, it would be sweet like virgin's blood.

Snape looked at the girl chained to the wall with disdain. "Do what you will, but the Dark Lord wants her alive, and her mind intact. I think he plans to ask her to join, once she's been . . . persuaded. Pity her blood is pure, I'd love to watch you spill it."

Alecto spat, her lips pulling back in a leer, her plans for the feast forgotten. "If I can't whip her, maybe I'll find some-what better to do," she grinned. "Where's that Longbottom boy?"

Her grin stretched wider as the girl went pale.


	12. Luck Be A Lady

12

Ginny

It hurt. Everything hurt. Her cheek was slashed, her muscles ached from a repeated Crucio, and her bones felt fluid and hot. She was dizzy, she noted, and her left arm felt broken in one, no, two places between her elbow and wrist, and those hurt too, from the chains. Her feet were cold and numb, and her toes now burned as they warmed. _Bastard had taken her damn socks._ Somehow, that seemed worse than the third Crucio he'd shot at her. She knew pain was imminent, but stealing her favorite green socks? It was like the idiot knew what socks _meant_ to her because of Dobby, and just how cold she would get overnight in that drafty dungeon without them. It was doubly cruel. He didn't just want her to suffer physically, but emotionally- and he wanted it to last long after he'd left the dungeon.

She also wondered if he knew- or guessed- that the figure she'd knitted on the emerald socks was Harry catching the snitch on his Firebolt. She'd been really, really bored this summer.

Ok, scratch that- she'd been helplessly lovesick this summer.

And the prat was immensely sweet and cute- and looked incredibly good catching a snitch on her socks.

Yep, she had it bad.

Lifting her head, Ginny inspected the bed she was in. Through blurry vision, a face met hers.

"Susan? A-and Ernie? Where am I?" she asked. Her own voice sounded pitiful, and Ginny laid her head back as Ernie's wand flicked over her. A blanket drew back and she looked away, knowing it was necessary, as Ernie and Susan inspected her for cuts and bleeding. She felt, rather than saw, the cuts on her legs and the bruises being healed, and then soft, warm hands were massaging her wrists with cream, and Hannah's lovely face was by her side.

"They need to get Neville's back to sorts and I can't look, so I'm going to heal your arm and give you some medicine for pain, ok?" she said with a watery smile.

Ginny nodded mutely, and closed her eyes. She felt small hands smooth over the skin of her arm and flinched, just barely, though she knew Hannah was doing what she had to.

"How is he?" she rasped. Hannah tipped her head forward and sweet, cool water rushed down her throat. Ginny coughed and Hannah wiped a droplet off her chin.

"He's unconscious, which is probably for the best. His back was in- in shreds, when they brought him up, and he'd lost so much blood. Susan's checked his type, and she and I both match, so we've each donated a pint tonight. Luna's got some broken bones in her legs and her fingers are burned, but she's not so bad off as you are. I take it you don't remember much?" Hannah asked gently.

Ginny shook her head; doing anything more hurt too much. "Is it after the feast?"

Hannah nodded. "It's Sunday. They didn't let you all go until late last night, and Luna was second, after Nev. He had to be carried out. We got Michael back shortly after the feast. He's in the bed at the end. His broken arms are mending, and he's still pretty shaken. They used a burn curse on him to get his arms and they broke them so he couldn't fight back."

Ginny blinked twice. Two days had passed, and she had been . . . out. She remembered crying, and screaming, she remembered pain- and then silence, and waiting . . . but she didn't remember when she'd been pulled down from the wall. Hannah seemed to know what she was wondering.

"We healed Luna after she came back without you and then she took the first jailbreak mission with Padma leading. They brought you back near an hour ago- you've been unconscious."

Ginny let herself drift off, easing into sleep as the pain potion took over and Hannah massaged her toes with warm wax. She must be dirty, she mused, but Hannah didn't seem to mind. On the next bed over, Neville moaned, and immediately Hannah sprung up and latched onto his bed. Ginny heard quiet murmurs and the sound of Neville coughing, and then water being poured. A few minutes later a second glass was filled, and then sleep overtook her.

She awoke feeling clean and warm, bundled in snowy white bedclothes and her second-favorite socks; pink with dragons, from Charlie. Her hair needed to be brushed, but someone had already untangled the worst of it and had bathed her before dressing her. Ginny pulled her covers off and felt her achy muscles protest the movement as she trudged down the stairs. The balcony was deserted, but Susan was sitting at a table in the Common Room, looking through some diagrams, and Ernie was munching on toast next to her, trying to get Susan to take some. They both looked up as Ginny came down the stairs, and Ginny suddenly became aware of the fact that she didn't know whose pajamas she wore.

"Good, you're up. Hannah's in with Neville. You, Luna, and Nev were given two days off to recuperate, as per Pomfrey's orders. She was fit to kill when Snape said you didn't need medical attention. The Headmaster obliged in giving you off when he found that all three of you are pureblood. Can't kill off too many of us, I guess," Ernie said sardonically. "I have a free period now, but I have work to do; I'll be in Hufflepuff if you need me Sue. I wanted to get some coins to those two fourth years, but I need to interview them first. Do we have anymore Veritaserum? I just need two drops."

Susan bustled off to the Infirmary to help Ernie and Ginny walked into the kitchen, where a Muggle musician she recognized as Sinister- no, Sinatra- was singing from the radio. Luna, complete with purple apron and high heels, was dancing with the frying pan in her hand, deftly flipping two sunny-side-up eggs. Ginny stood by the door, trying to decide if she was still dreaming.

"Oh, Ginny, you're awake! Hooray! Now I don't have to eat these! You do like eggs, don't you? I made toast, too, with a jelly smiley face," Luna said very quickly. Ginny sat down and pulled the plate towards her. Even the salt and pepper shakers were purple. Luna sat down with her and poured her a cup of tea to match her own. "How are you feeling?" she asked.

"Sore, but much better than I expected," Ginny replied, munching on her toast. "How did the first jailbreak go? I expect the elves were the best part."

"Oh yes, they were wonderful, we just apparated in with them, got you loose with some peanut butter, and then Winky brought you and I and Padma here. We let the other volunteers rescue a few younger students- Sylvia is here, she's staying in the Room for good now, and two others were let go to their rooms, but I don't think they'll remember much, we gave them some very strong memory potions. I do hope they take them with water, they can irritate the stomach if you don't, you know," she explained.

"Peanut butter? Really?" Ginny laughed as Luna nodded. She knew better than to question Luna's methods by now. "And how did the feast go?" she asked.

"The feast was a complete success, I was told, mostly because we three were down there keeping Alecto and Amycus preoccupied," Luna started, only to be interrupted as Ginny snorted at "preoccupied". "They let some older Slytherins watch, some sort of initiation thing, and so there weren't many people to help Snape once the pumpkins began singing. He started blasting them, but there are so many, you know . . . there were orange, black, gold, purple and yellow streamers coming down and our balloons and confetti, and then the sign unfurled- "Potter defeated you once, Moldy-Warts! Happy Halloween!" and Snape set it on fire. He looked rather pale. I thought I saw McGonagall send an Aguamenti at it though, once he'd noticed the confetti. It started expanding into those fliers you had me design, and there were so many, I think he realized he couldn't get them all. He sent Filch down to get the Carrows and he was yelling at them and hexing them, and trying to summon all the pumpkins, but Hannah says they just kept hitting him and the Carrows. The balloons were nice, too- Seamus complemented me on them twice. He said they were flashy and eye catching."

Luna added more eggs to Ginny's plate, and Neville walked in slowly, held up by Hannah. Ginny leapt up to give Neville a tender hug and thanked Hannah, and then helped Luna get Neville some toast and eggs. Hannah started catching Neville up on what had happened, and Ginny noted how close their bodies were and how often Hannah seemed to touch his arm or pat his shoulder. After the sixth time in four minutes, she knew her suspicions were right on the galleon. Fred and George owed her ten galleons, thirteen sickles each. Neville had a girlfriend before graduating.

With a smile on her face, she pulled another piece of toast off the stack and buttered it thickly.

"Where did all the grub come from?" she asked, but Luna was ready with an answer. "Dobby," she said simply, and Ginny opened a cupboard to see coffee, tea, sugar, bread, and other foods neatly lining the shelves. Refrigerant and preservation spells were clearly in place. "He and Winky offered to bring us dinners three times a day, but I told them it was no trouble for us to cook our breakfasts and lunches. It's the least we could do." Ginny smiled and asked Luna if she had any ideas for lunches. "Daddy has a delicious Plimpy soup recipe he swears by," Luna began, before Neville turned white and fainted. Hannah rushed to pull him up, but Ginny could see a slight grin on his face.

After breakfast, Ginny and Luna went upstairs to give Hannah and Neville some time to themselves. Checking on Michael, who was reading a book in bed, they joined him to ask how his weekend had gone after he'd made it to the Room. Ginny felt the uncomfortable looks being thrown her way, and knowing what he wanted, she stayed as friendly as possible, keeping her tone light and conversational. When Luna gave Michael a hug, however, she couldn't _not_ offer one without being rude, and Michael held the hug much longer than she would have liked. Ginny smiled cheerfully and wished him a quick recovery before shooting out of the room as fast as she could.

She could not have come downstairs at a less opportune time. Unbeknownst to her, Hannah and Neville were sitting on the sofa in plain sight, sealing their new couplehood with a beautifully sweet kiss. Turning back, sick at the sight of friends having the joy she missed sharing with Harry, she escaped to her room, where her warm, lovely bed welcomed her back. Too bad it didn't have arms to hug her. And green eyes. And black, messy hair.

Ginny threw herself down in frustration. It was November, she had no idea what would happen next for the DA before Christmas, the Carrows seemed to be closing in on her at every turn, homework was piling up and soon she'd have to spend a whole two weeks at home convincing her mother she was well-fed (not quite), well- behaved (not in the slightest!) and well-secured (even more laughable!). That her own fears over Harry, her brother, Hermione, and her own life were driving her nuts was not a problem; if she could get through Christmas without smashing anything, setting fire to anything, or traumatizing Mum and leading to her being kept against her will under lock-and-wand at home, then all would be fine. She could ask Fred and George for some more supplies (the lot of them were gone after Halloween and the other stunts they'd pulled) and perhaps call on Tonks for some creative genius. She could handle it all. Really, she could.

Ginny turned over, deciding that more sleep was just what she needed. Knowing she might not get just that for the next several weeks, she snuggled into her comforter and tried to block the nightmares from just this once spoiling her sweet, emerald dreams.

It was a week later before anything of importance happened. The DA had cooled off in favor of seeing all their members make it alive to Holidays. They opted instead of public sabotage for training in the Room, and so it was that a mix of over sixty-eight individuals from fourth year and up were continually waiting in line or using the simulation room. Neville had grown angsty after tripping over several of them sleeping outside the door that Wednesday morning and had insisted that a schedule be drawn up where duelers could sign up for the use of the Room. Ginny backed him up, informing the Gryffindors herself that she would not let any of them draw more attention than was necessary to their one hideout. When they were not next to use the Room, they had to stay in the Gryffindor Common room unless something drastic happened.

To avoid crowding, Neville had insisted also that theory classes, which each of the liaisons kept for their house, would be scheduled as well. By now almost every fifth, sixth, and seventh year outside of Slytherin was in the DA with the exception of two Ravenclaws, a brother and sister, who had come to Hogwarts only this year after being homeschooled. After a quick talk with these two, Neville had been assured that theory classes for the DA could be held in the house common rooms with a well-placed muffliato and some protective charms. Younger students who looked over at the group would see only a bunch of older students studying together, and would suddenly feel the urge to go to bed. Ginny and Seamus had argued for bringing in students below third year, after watching a trio of second years who had jinxed Snape's robe to glow pink when he was angry. Susan Bones had made their decision final, however, when she brought in one of the boys responsible, whose face had been smashed in by an overenthusiastic Amycus.

"We will NOT be using any young students who cannot in the very least know what to expect," she'd glowered at Seamus. The others had dropped the idea at that point, and a law had been dictated that no one below third year could join, and third and fourth years could not participate in missions. They had been overwhelmed by disappointed students until Demelza and Peakes had suggested a mentor program with the fifth years, who had fewer responsibilities than the sixth and seventh years. Each fifth year DA member took a pair of third or fourth years under their wing, teaching them defensive spells and theory, and arranged times when they could practice in the simulation room against other teams. A tally of victories and bragging rights had grown to three feet long on the wall next to the simulation room, where fifth years had listed bets and posted team photos.

Ginny had been resting in the Room, finishing homework with Demelza and Hannah, when a rush of fifteen younger students invaded the Room winded and yelling. Demelza shouted at them to quiet down and asked if somebody could "bloody explain what's goin' on here!" and a fourth year Ravenclaw named Peter Yolkes had complied.

"It's that Potterwatch- the Carrows came into the Ravenclaw Common Room, and we had the wireless that Luna made on, and it was playing! We stunned them and got out of there fast!"

"Did you hide the wireless?" Ginny asked hurriedly.

"No need!" Luna's voice called dreamily from the balcony, where she was lying with her hair hanging over the banister. "They won't remember it and even if they do, it'll move around the room to avoid where they're looking. I charmed it with a Hop-Scotch-Jinx, it'll move where their eyes look next, but before they see it. Works on anyone with the last name 'Carrow'."

"So what about Snape?" Hannah queried from her spot on the couch.

Ginny rolled her eyes as Luna informed Hannah of the same hair-brained theory she'd told Ginny weeks before. Whether or not Snape was a fine figure skater, Ginny doubted whatever "redeeming qualities" Luna always held the man possessed would be enough to turn her position on him. The man had stolen her socks, after all.

"Never mind all that, Luna, what did you lot hear before they turned it off? How come it was tonight and not tomorrow?" Michael asked. Ernie was walking between the boys, casting calming charms and asking them if they were hurt anywhere with his best professional voice.

"Someone- I think it was River- said that they have information that Harry and two accomplices broke into the Ministry!" a second boy cried. Talking started on all sides but hushed when another continued, reporting to Ernie and Michael.

"Romulus said he freed a bunch of Muggleborns by the courtroom and he stunned Umbridge! And there were two of this one man, somebody called Cattermole, and then Rapier told folks that they think it was Harry who was Runcorn, the man who stunned Umbridge, because his patronus was a stag! Wasn't Harry's a stag, Ginny?" the boy asked, and all eyes turned to her.

Ginny gulped. Whatever Harry had been planning, he had escaped from the Ministry- and hopefully, he was safe now. She knew Fred and George would have been among the first to know if he'd been captured somehow. She pulled her shoulders back, preparing to calm the crowd, and sent a silent prayer to whoever was up there that this meant Harry was one step closer to destroying a horcrux.


	13. A Hospital Romance

As promised, my Wed update! Enjoy :-)

13

Seamus

Amycus Carrow stalked into the lower levels of the dungeons, his eyes swiveling from side to side. He knew it looked shifty and could draw attention to him, but in this moment he felt freer than he had in months. With no one to throw hexes at him or gall him into saying something he'd later regret, he found his steps widening, his gait becoming more relaxed, and his shoulders straightening just enough that the difference was noticeable. Intent on his goal, he flexed his arm muscles, focusing on keeping his pace to a simple jaunt, nothing too quick- anything more would make the students around him recall ever more clearly that he'd been here, and he wanted no witnesses. He wanted his excursion into Snape's private stores to be unknown to any but himself for the time being- and without the ability to merely jinx any bystanders into running for cover, he had adopted a more subtle approach.

Pulling open the wide oak door, Amycus slunk inside, checking quickly that the classroom was empty. It had taken two weeks preparation to figure out what spells Snape used to guard and monitor his own private stores that were still kept in his former office. That Slughorn preferred a bigger room in the warmer upper levels attached to his private quarters had come as no shock, but the fact that Snape had kept his own potions room to himself had boggled the students. Most had assumed he simply wished to keep up with his brewing- Snape, while wholly unpleasant, was a master potioneer, and was well known for his dedication to his craft. Yet the man slinking along the wall, waving his wand to show the colored lines that traced over the last door, knew better. He and others had been tipped off that the Headmaster brewed potions for the Dark Lord's purposes in this room, and with no other alternative, they knew they had to sabotage them.

The man's swarthy face faded into the shadows as with a final flick, he deactivated the last ward. They had been trickier than he'd been warned, and though Snape's glower should have been enough to convince any student not to trespass into his office, it seemed that Severus had taken great care to insure adult intruders were not killed, but maimed beyond recognition should they attempt to reach the inner room without knowing the curses in place and deactivating them. There were no portraits here to report back should he fail and become injured, and it was with relief that Amycus pulled his glove off and opened the door. That had been the final touch- a brilliant end to a complex set of defensive barriers, if he admitted it to himself- only a bare hand, that of one who was trusting- and therefore less likely, Amycus reasoned, to be a threat- could open the door. A gloved individual would find themselves immediately surrounded by flames, and trapped- and Amycus knew that any sneaky person would overestimate the danger and think themselves mad if they were to touch an office door containing unknown curses without gloves.

The door eased open without a sound, and an array of bottles, stoppered flasks, and pickled and dried specimens hung from the ceiling above or sat on the shelves that covered three of the four walls. A huge table with draining spouts sat in the center, with pale blue orbs sending a glow over the room that made him think of tombs and catacombs. Three varying cauldrons, each silver, hung above, and jostled a bit, though there was no wind to move them. Five solid gold cauldrons each the size of a pigeon sat on the table with steam coming from their tops, pluming up to the ceiling. Snape was out, but that did not mean he would not return soon. With his other tasks for the evening in mind, Amycus approached and pulled out five tiny flasks, filling each with one of the potions arrayed before him, and stoppering them with the cork he'd been given by his partners. It had taken a week to find the right glass that was charmed to handle any caustic material that could be simmering in these cauldrons. Carefully, he aimed his wand at the shelves and summoned a series of ingredients nonverbally, in case a vocal-recognition charm was in place that might alert the owner to foreign voices in his lab. One by one dittany, shrinking solution, polyjuice, blood replenishing potion, veritaserum, and seven others flew to his hand, and he caught each deftly and packed them into the tiny rows of pockets sewn to the inside of his robe, before folding back the fabric meant to conceal them and protect his skin should a break occur. With a grin, he swiveled once, imaging the greasy git's face when he realized how much was missing. He felt a tingle begin in his arms, and knowing he only had seconds before a change could occur, he frantically reached into his left sleeve and detached a single stoppered vial and drank half the contents. For though he looked like Amycus Carrow now, Seamus Finnegan did not fancy showing his true face to any spells that were undoubtedly set to record images of intruders.

With a jostle he left the office, but not before his last task. With a flourish, he uncapped a vial of powdered bicorn horn from the shelf and carefully placed a scoop into each of the first three cauldrons. The last two were given mixtures of scarat grass and a bezoar each. Sniggering, he pulled the bottle of Weasley's WonderWitch Ever-Shiny Shampoo in Ravish-Me-Raspberry from his robes and placed a single folded parchment addressed to the Headmaster in curvy script with it next to the cauldrons.

_Dumbledore's Army would like to thank our Headmaster dearly for the supplies. By the time you have read this, the Order will already know what you have produced for Voldemort's benefit. Do not be surprised if Lord Frumpy-Tits is informed of our knowledge. Might we suggest laying off on the use of the Cruciatus for a bit? This goes for the Carrows as well. If this is complied with until Christmas, we will not inform your Lord of our breach in your potions lab. Rest assured, all 5 samples have been ruined. We know you'll relish the challenge of figuring out just what we did to help them along._

_Happy Brewing!_

_Your Friendly Neighborhood Defense Association_

Seamus navigated the dungeons on his way out, not bothering to put Snape's protective enchantments back in place. He'd let the greasy git handle his own spells. With half his polyjuice gone, and Amycus' sleeping potion likely to wear off within ten minutes, he'd need to act fast. There was only so much he could do in one hour, after all, Irish heartthrob or not. With a inward chuckle at the thought of how Lavender would react when he came back safely (he did love the "benefits" of going on dangerous missions!) and the trust that the other sixth and seventh years would give him when he'd successfully completed the first- and most likely the only- break into Snape's stores for desperately needed potions, Seamus was hard pressed not to quicken his step. But as Ginny and Susan had drilled into him, half of the mission lay in the acting- and if he was seen behaving too kindly or walking faster than Amycus could wobble, it would be a dead giveaway. The other nice thing, he reflected, was that as Amycus, his shoulder and arm didn't hurt from when he'd been attacked by three Slytherins the day before for yelling at them to lay off Lav for her half-blood status. Really, what did they think they were getting, attacking her when half the wizarding world was mixed blood? When Crabbe had started touching her waist, though, Seamus had intervened, and even with three on one, he'd managed to help Lavender get away. He'd not been as lucky, though a few bruises and a single long cut on his arm from a slicing hex weren't so bad.

He entered the row of cells to hear screaming. Zabini and Parkinson were throwing half-assed Crucio's at a trio of fourth year DA members, who'd been caught booby-trapping Amycus's class. Once the three had been taken to the dungeons, the DA had gone into overdrive to rescue them and use the situation to their advantage. Four DA members had set up their positions outside his office. At the signal from Susan through the coin, who watched the Map in the Room, they attacked with Peruvian Instant Darkness powder at the two ends of the corridors and some well-placed, silent stunners. Seamus reckoned the four stunners alone would have kept Amycus sleeping in his sealed office for quite some time, but Susan, who was planning most of this operation, had insisted on using a bit of sleeping draught before he could take the polyjuice. He smirked at the thought of Amycus having to walk naked to his own office or conjure robes, which everyone knew was his weakest point. The man had to ask Snape to conjure him a goblet, for Merlin's sake.

With Ginny, Yulang, and Audrey standing guard over a prone, and very loudly snoring Amycus, Seamus was off to see how Hogwarts looked from a Death Eater's eyes. The looks he'd gotten from his fellow students, who assumed he was the bloody bitch, were not flattering, and he was stuck between hilarity at the disgust the Death Eater instigated and sadness at the younger faces, who all scurried off in fear or kept their eyes on their feet when he passed them.

Seamus viewed the scene with revulsion hidden behind a wide, toothy grin. He noted that Nott was green faced and his wand was at his side, and decided to mention it to Luna in case she hadn't considered him as a spy yet.

"Well, well, what have we here? A few little brats who thought they'd sneak into my office?" he intoned, hoping his sneer was menacing enough. The middle one was bleeding heavily and clearly near fainting, but the other two glared back defiantly and Seamus had to remember not to beam at them for their bravery.

"We've been giving them a taste of what you'll do to them, Professor," Zabini said coldly. Parkinson looked at him with poorly concealed lust, and Seamus had to gulp back the vomit that threatened to come up. She _really_ wasn't a pretty lass. He was starting to wonder if he'd have nightmares of this poor bird following him with that look on her face, when Pansy laced her fingers into Zabini's as though the two were at a romantic rendezvous and were admiring the scenery together.

"We bled the middle one, but you might want to heal him before you start- the little shit is half gone and worthless for questioning," came Pansy's syrupy voice. "Nott here is too good to get his robes dirty."

"Nott, don't expect me to let you off next time. Parkinson, Zabini, git yourselves up to the Headmaster. He needs ter know we got a lead on where that Slyvia girl's been hiding out, and he should check the Astronomy tower- Alecto's waitin' for him there. Somethin' about a hidden passage behind one of the paintin's in the stairwell . . . Well, git on, I'll finish these brats off! Git on!" Seamus yelled.

Pansy looked at him curiously, and for a split second Seamus wondered if perhaps she was used to more friendly treatment from Amycus, being a Slytherin and a pureblood. Had he hidden his Irish brogue enough, or did he still sound like a bleedin' Paddy? To his relief, Nott rushed out quickly, followed by a tacit Zabini and a prattling Pansy, and Seamus turned to the three boys who now looked at him in fear. He pulled the bloody trouser leg up on the middle boy, Travis, if he recalled correctly, and healed the deep incision that was leaking crimson onto the stone floor with a steady dribble. Pulling out the peanut butter, since using Amycus' wand wasn't working well for him and the boys could get hurt, (and he knew it was because, though he'd never admit it, his core was pixie dust- and ONLY pixie dust seemed to work for him) he spread a decent amount of the hands of the middle boy, who was now undoubtedly unconscious. He had been told by Luna that using his wand could be traced, and he certainly couldn't use Amycus'.

"You boys need to work quickly, gotcha? I'm gonna put this on and you need to wiggle out. Where're your wands?" He asked, trying to be quiet. Heath caught on quickly enough and shook his straw colored hair out of his eyes, "they're in our bags, in the corner- he dragged us in and flung them to the left," while the last young man, who Seamus assumed was Russ, had widened his eyes but still looked wary.

"Look 'ere," Seamus said, knowing he had precious little time, "see this bottle I'm drinkin' from? I know you got to know what's in 'ere," he said, flashing the polyjuice before he drank the last of it. The boys looked blank still, and Seamus began to grow frustrated. He now had five minutes left, and with the one boy unconscious, things could get sticky. "Polyjuice- It's Finnigan, and I need you two to help me get him to the Room before Amycus wakes up, Snape catches on, or my cover is blown!"

"But how do we know it's you? If we were in any kind of, er, group- wouldn't Amycus want to know where it meets?" Russ stuttered.

"My name be Seamus Finnegan of the Irish Finnegans, I've played Quidditch since I was a mite of three, and last week in the Room of Requirement I got bested by my bird in front of you three and everyon' else here on Morgana's green earth in a twenty minute duel that I shoulda won, if she hadn't been cheatin' and flashed me some skin. Now will you boys please, for the love o' Merlin, pull those wrists through those shackles and get yer sorry arses down here!" Seamus spoke hoarsely. By the end of his sentence, both boys had wriggled free on one side, and while he lowered the unconscious Travis to the ground and then bound him in silvery ropes, the boys took off to get their bags.

"Now, which one of 'yeh can scream loudest?" Seamus asked, pointing his wand at the two.

"What the hell?!" yelled Russ.

"You said you were Finnegan! How'd you know about the Room, you dirty bitch!?" Heath countered, throwing a hex which Seamus deflected.

"I am Finnegan, you ponce, now give me a good holler so I can set it to replay every once and awhile in the cell! We need to buy some time!" Seamus demanded. "Like it or not, blokes, yer gonna have to trust me."

Heath let out a wail and Seamus muttered the incantation under his breath, watching as a green light hit the boys, who were screaming and cursing quite willingly now. With a few quick flicks of Amycus' wand, the charm was set and a recording of their screams echoed off the walls, while the boys allowed themselves to be bound for theatrics. Seamus threw down Amycus' wand, feeling dirty, and took out his own. He levitated a bound Travis in front of him and pulled the other two behind him on silvery ropes, whispering for them to hide their wands.

Three flights of stairs later, Seamus knew they were cutting things close- an irate Alecto had screamed at him in passing that she didn't like being set up for jokes on Snape, which meant Snape was now aware that someone- Amycus or otherwise- was playing with his teachers. By the time they'd gotten to the fifth floor, Seamus vowed that fantastic victory shag or not, he was never going into something of this caliber alone. Sweat poured off his forehead and the other boys were hard pressed not to run to the Room, and to just walk quickly. The corridor seemed vacant, and with a breath of relief, Seamus let the boys out of their ropes and set Travis down, checking his pulse. He could feel his nose lengthening, thank Merlin- Lav would never shag him again if he'd been stuck looking like that arse. Just as his hair was beginning to degrease and turn into his own sandy hue, he felt a warm ripple over his head and Russ went down in a blur of orange.

Seamus whirled around, pressing his coin in his trouser pocket for help and firing stunners and a low trip jinx before he'd even seen who was attacking. Heath had gone pasty white but was holding a shield spell over himself and Travis, and Seamus looked from Snape's enraged, approaching figure to the three boys as he fired nonverbals.

"Take Travis an' go! Get them in!" he screamed, pulling Russ up. Just then two figures in black bodysuits with scarlet masks and sashes jumped from beyond the wall, and Seamus knew his reinforcements had come. A third, with a blue mask and sash, slid out low in a roll, and her (even in the middle of battle, he could always recognize a nice rack when he saw it) quick Impedimentia to Snape's legs took him out in a single, clean stroke. Seamus hefted Russ' limp form over his shoulder and spoke the password, hobbling to the Room as the three fighters stunned Snape behind him. Snape had gotten him with a cutting jinx, but worse still- Snape'd seen his face after the polyjuice was gone. Praying that Ginny's memory spells were as good as her arse, he turned to get help. Inside, the Room was filled with seven figures rushing, some in the new black uniforms Lav had designed, and some in school trousers. Hannah Abbott was leaning over Travis, her yellow sash and mask at her feet, muttering as her wand flew and darted. Macmillan was helping a limping Heath into an armchair, his poncey professional tone in full force.

"I need some HELP over 'ere! I don't think it was jus' a stunner!" Seamus yelled, and from nowhere, Lavender was there, her face shining with worry and love, and as she lifted Russ' legs up and pulled him along into the infirmary, yelling for Luna to find Susan, Seamus thought he'd never seen anything more beautiful. Her hair had blood in it, but Seamus felt she was the most gorgeous bird he'd ever seen.

Macmillan came pulling Heath and a levitating Travis in behind him, and Seamus settled Russ onto a bed and started ripping his robes open. "Lav, girl, are yeh hurt? Why've ye got blood in yer hair?" he asked frantically, sealing what cuts he could on the boy's legs.

"M'fine, there was a bit of a tussle down in the Great Hall- the food poisoning backfired- McGonagall got Alecto's drink again at dinner and Demelza tried to help her, but Alecto thought she'd been the one to put it in, and so we had to move in fast- we had six of us dueling her and getting Demelza out of there, and then Neville hit his head, so I had to pull him up and get him in here. We knew we'd need to be back to cover you if Snape picked up what was going on, and Demelza was in a pretty bad way. I don't know what happened to McGonagall, I couldn't see!" Lavender cried, bursting into noisy tears. "What if s-she died? It wasn't supposed to go to her! And it should have only caused diarrhea, not chocking!"

At that moment Susan Bones came rushing into the infirmary in a blur of black, her blue mask ripped off and her hair swinging down. "MOVE!" she commanded, pushing Lavender out of the way. Seamus brushed aside the guilt that he couldn't comfort Lav and pulled Russ upright as Susan was directing, continuing to slice off his trousers. "See the burn? Just there, it's started on his belly and it's spreadin', and 'enervate' wouldna work," he gestured speedily.

"Lav, get the blue paste in the top left cupboard! I need to stop this burn, it's internal! He's got a curse spreading up his side!" Susan yelled, and Seamus flipped Russ over at her word, while her wand waved over the angry red streaks on Russ' back. "It's still spreadin'! What is this shit?!" Seamus called.

"LAVENDER! THE PASTE, NOW!" Susan screamed, and Macmillan was there suddenly, helping Seamus turn him back over. "It's Enflaria, Sue, we need the countercurse! See the blue in the middle of the red streaks? It's going to melt through his skin in a few minutes! GET HIM IN AN ICE BATH!" Ernie hurriedly implored, and Seamus lifted Russ off the bed into the tub Susan was transfiguring. Lavender spread burn cream on the angry red blisters and lines now snaking up Russ' chest and threading their way over his neck. With a swish, ice cold water began to stream out of Susan's wand, and Seamus grabbed for his own and sprayed cold water over Russ' neck and chest. "Hurry, get his back, love," he told Lav, pulling Russ up to let her rub the cream onto his back. Susan looked back, terrified, at a frantic Ernie who was ripping through the healer's book on the back table. "ERNIE! WE ONLY HAVE ONE MORE MINUTE LEFT! IT'S HIT HIS THROAT!" She cried. Tears streamed down Lavender's face and Seamus found himself shaking uncontrollably. Could he really die? Sure, they'd seen people hurt, beaten, screaming in pain- but he'd _never_ thought- _NEVER_- that one of them could _die_! Russ' skin had taken on a reddish glow, and lines of flames licked trails of bright red across his arms and down his pelvis. The water sloshed out, and Seamus realized it was hot- Russ was melting the ice Susan had conjured.

"Drain the tub, it'll buy us a few seconds- we need more water! MORE ICE!" he cried, siphoning off the water onto the floor with one fell swoop and conjuring more ice. Still, the steam rose, and Russ was burning up, his body one long swatch of horribly bright red and orange, blue tips of phantom flames licking at his fingers, boiling his insides. _What a horrible way to die!_ He was being burned alive - could it get more cruel?! Seamus felt tears run over his cheeks- _he couldn't die_, not now- the bloke couldn't be more than fifteen- _Russ couldn't die!_

"CESSANTE FRIO!" Ernie screamed, suddenly beside him, and Susan began pointing her wand at the blue tips, calling the same incantation through tears. Lavender's maple wand was freezing the water around Russ, and the steam was dissappating, and Seamus slumped onto the floor, crying, his arms aching from holding the boy's weight, feeling great, swooping relief and pain overwhelm him. Cold water slipped over the rim of the tub in a wave and splashed onto the floor, and Seamus felt like he was drowning. _How could a teacher throw something like that at a kid?_ Russ could have died! He STILL might die! And Seamus could do nothing to stop it!

"Oh Merlin, I thought he was GONE," he sobbed, and feet stopped next to him. Strong arms lifted him up, and Seamus heard Neville's voice as he sobbed, shaking, and suddenly he was being lifted higher, higher, until he was dripping onto one of the beds, and Lav was pulling off his robe, and Hannah was helping her, and still he sobbed- _how could they?_ How could they hurt little kids? How could Alecto Crucio his friends? How was Amycus so sick that he could follow Ginny and Lavender and try to rape them? How could SNAPE send a curse like that at a boy who'd probably never shagged a bird, never had a drink, never learned how to defend himself from a man like that?

He felt woozy and vaguely nauseous, and then abruptly he was vomiting, and there was blood in it, great spurts of it gagging him, spewing from his mouth, and Lav was screaming. Seamus felt his world go black.

He awoke to a pair of blue eyes, and as his vision cleared, Lav's face came into focus, pale and fearful. "Susan'll be right back," she whispered raspily, "one of the vials cracked, it got to your skin- you had a gouged out bit of flesh the size of a fist over your stomach, Ernie had to drain it- you were so white. Y-you're whole again, Sue f-fixed it."

"What time is't?" he asked, and his voice sounded foreign, so soft and weak.

"Half-past midnight, but you've been sleeping awhile."

He laid his head back on the pillow and flexed his muscles, one by one. Whenever he got beaten up, his first thought was to check each of his body parts. Did his hip feel out of the joint? Were his arm muscles pulled from the shackles? Did he need to ask Ernie for that Murtlap Essence to ease pain in his cuts? Now, with all his limbs intact and feeling weak but capable of movement, his thoughts drifted to the red streaks on Russ' back.

"Russ is on the bed at the other end, he'll need some time," Lavender said, as though reading his mind, and Seamus shook his head sadly, feeling tears threaten to spill over again. He'd already embarrassed himself once in front of Lav today, though, and he'd not cry like a sissy over some bloke living rather than dying.

"Erm, so, he's alrigh' then?" he said, clearing his throat. Lav poured him a glass of water and he watched as her cleavage drifted down when she helped him drink. So there were some benefits to being sick in bed after all.

"He's still covered in those flame marks- they've faded somewhat, but they look horrible," she whispered. "He woke an hour before you did- says he feels like he's sunburnt, but that's all. His face looks awful though- all red and streaky. Yulang said his uncle got hit by this in the last war, and the ones on Russ' belly might be _permanent_," she finished in a rush.

"Still, he's alive," Seamus said gruffly, trying not to think about the fact that if a few more seconds had gone by, the alternative might be true. Thank Merlin Macmillan was such a professional ponce. He'd have to admit the Scotsman knew his healing.

"Yeah, but what about his chest? He'll never look the same again. He'll have those ugly marks forever," Lavender whispered despairingly. "And he wasn't bad looking, he's got a nice smile."

They were quiet for a minute, and then Seamus knew he had to ask. "Would you still go 'round with me if I got my face smashed in by Snape?" he asked lowly.

Lav looked at him dead on for a full minute, and he was starting to feel red around the collar, though he knew that it was horrible to think so with Russ three beds down.

"I know we're not just about shagging," she said with a determined look on her pretty face. "I felt it when I saw Snape start following you on the Map- Ginny and Susan and Neville were rushing out, and Ernie had to hold me back, he kept saying that those three were the ones we'd agreed on to help, because Susan and Ginny can both do memory charms, and Neville is the best dueller we've got, but all I could think about was getting out there, going after you. I had to make sure you weren't hurt," she finished, looking at her lap. Seamus reached out a tentative hand and clasped hers in his own, and pulled it to his lips to kiss it gently.

"I can't believe I'm about the do this 'ere," he said quietly, a bit of his Cockney sneaking back in despite the quiet moment, "but I want us to go steady. I don't want to see any other birds."

He met her eyes and couldn't look away. They were the palest of silvery blues, and her lips were cherry red. She was beauty, and she was smiling, a delicate, feminine smile of knowing that always drove him mad, and she was leaning closer, and closer, and he caught a whiff of that heady jasmine perfume she was always wearing, faint after the battle and mingled with the sweet scent of her sweat. He traced her lips slowly with his finger tip, and the world beyond his hospital bed curtain had disappeared. She was heaven, her breasts close against his, her nose resting on his, her hands against his chest, feeling him breathe in time with her. Her eyes closed, gentle near-translucent skin shining creamy in the low light of the candle by his bed, and his fingers curved of their own accord languidly along her cheek, trailed over her neck, cupped her waist.

He was never slow. He was always the one to push, always the one to plead and persuade, charm and coerce ever so teasingly, always ready to tumble a girl down a hillside with a low laugh, press her against a sturdy stone wall and kiss her breathless, lower her down in a flurry in a broom cupboard. There were always teachers or Mam about to spoil his plans, and then there was the girl- what if mid-snog she changed her mind? He wanted them to feel, not think. Thinking always led to a long walk home, a chaste but pleasant kiss, and tight trousers for the rest of the week. Never had he wanted to take his time, make it something she'd _revel in_. Sure, the girls always desired him- he'd never force a bird, that was archaic- but he'd always been the one to passionately kiss away their inhibitions. Here he was injured, and not looking his best, and he was lying under her, not tipping her head back from above, and she wasn't even kissing him, but he felt his whole body surge with latent want. He could feel her shift in his arms as he traced and stroked, slipping sweet caresses onto her hips, the small of her back- he felt his insides twist as she brought her lips closer, but still, he didn't kiss her. She was shivering, her smile changing to something deeper, something wanton, and Seamus lay transfixed, watching her eyelids flutter when he slowly ran a finger under her breast. A tiny moan, no more than a whisper, exhaled from her lips, and her eyes opened, gazing heatedly into his own.

"But you're _sick_," she said, clearly bemoaning the lost opportunity, and wanting to enjoy his newfound maturity.

Seamus gulped. _Now or never, eh_, he thought to himself. He picked up his wand from the bedside table and set a quick silencing charm and an imperturbable on their curtained sanctuary.

"All the more reason to celebrate me returnin' to good health, love," he whispered throatily, and she pounced on him before he could kiss her.


	14. The Art of Deception

Hi all-

I wanted to clarify a few things before I begin my update. For starters, Neville has successfully connected the DA Room to the bathrooms of each of the three houses. If a student wants to get to the Room, they go to the last stall in their dormitory bathroom and they can access the Room by using their coin and saying the password, as long as someone remains in the Room to keep the portal open. This will be explained later in detail in a chapter but for now it is something I was keeping back- and I have gotten a question about how the Carrows and Snape weren't being alerted to many students going to the fifth floor corridor where the Room is without being noticed. I know this seems to go against Canon, as Neville and others inform Harry they cannot tell where the Room will send them, but I feel that this is a different set of circumstances. They are asking for someplace safe to come out where the Carrows will not be, not a specific location, as Neville does with the bathroom portals. Also, I feel Neville and Ginny would try to keep the true abilities of the Room to themselves even once Harry has come: the Room will change with the progression of the story, so what we see now is not what Harry will see when he enters the Room from Aberforth's pub in Deathly Hallows. Harry also is in a hurry, and cannot see the full contents of the Room (i.e. the training room, infirmary, etc).

Next, the chapter on Seamus takes place in early November, as the leaders were working on both the Halloween project (with the help of younger students) and this more serious project simultaneously. I do not think that a mission as dangerous as this would have been common knowledge in the DA and so I kept this to myself- only Seamus, Neville, Susan, Luna, and Ginny would have planned this escapade, and the others would have been informed once it was the day of the event itself. This is why it is not mentioned in previous chapters, even by Neville- he cannot tell Hannah for safety's sake, since she will not be involved directly.

Thanks for reading, and reviews will keep me writing faster! Enjoy :-)

14

Severus

Severus Snape sighed as he slumped into his Headmaster's seat. He'd already checked with Phineas, but the man had nothing new to offer today. Snape was spent. His legs ached from traversing a hilly area up north where snatchers had reported Potter had been sighted. After four hours Severus had concluded it had been a load of tosh from some upstarts wanting to seem important. He had train security plans to update before Christmas holidays in six weeks, and five complicated potions to rebrew. He also needed to put in an advert for a second caretaker to help Argus, as the man could not keep up with all the blasted _artwork_ that was appearing. And the portrait of St. Augustine the Apt had informed him earlier that his Head Boy had been walking behind the Weasley girl disillusioned, though it did not seem he had "improper intentions," the portrait had assured. What Draco thought he could gain from tailing her, Snape could not fathom- but perhaps he was merely hoping she would give away the location where the DA was meeting. He'd checked the Room of Requirement in the first week, but it opened for him every time, empty of miscreants. He was not foolish enough to think the seventh years were ignorant of it after Potter's ego-boosting group had met there in their fifth year. But if they were meeting there, he had seen none enter or exit in the last three weeks while disillusioned in the corridor. For now, they were meeting elsewhere, he deduced.

It was a Tuesday, which was always something he had loathed. In his teaching days weekends afforded ample time to test antidotes, perfect his brews, and grade the infernal brats' papers, but weekdays were events where he had always been surrounded by people. _Cheerful people_. Students chattered loudly in the halls and giggled. Red-faced girls and boys threw hexes at one another with no thought to the consequences. Teenage students made hideous displays of kissing out in the open. Even his fellows pestered him, and seemed eternally convinced he only needed a "good woman" or a "long drink" to "fix" him- or perhaps a close friend, as his favorite went, to "confide his darkest fears in".

_Bah. Idiots. _

Several imbeciles had attempted to fill just such a void in his first years teaching at Hogwarts, when the love of a good woman- a very specific woman, whom he had lost forever- would have actually improved his circumstances miraculously. But now Trelawney no longer hit on him at the staff table, preferring to eat on her own after suffering his very public rebuffing. McGonagall treated him with quaint disinterest and the polite respect due a colleague, rather than the pity that had made him fear she knew what Lily's demise had done to him in his younger days.

Tuesday meant he had to give lectures and fix abominable attempts at brewing concoctions that any first year should have been able to master, but third years could not seem to grasp. _Really, had he ever been this thick in his youth? _Was it just his imagination, or were wizards getting stupider with each generation? _Ah_, he had to admit, Potter and Black had been overzealous, cocky wankers, but they had been more than adequate rivals; they had certainly been enemies worthy of Severus Snape. He hated to think of it, but he had taught students who could meet his expectations or sometimes, with lots of luck, exceed them, though he had yet to inform any pupil of their accomplishment. Tonks had been an excellent potioneer, though clumsy in other spellwork, and Bill Weasley and two Ravenclaws from his grade had been admirable even. Clearwater had excelled. The Granger girl had skill enough to memorize and follow directions to a T, but lacked the subtle creativity for which Snape and his lovely Lily had been famous.

There was hope, perhaps still, for wizarding kind, if there were enough idiots who could put effort into remembering which end to stand their cauldrons on. But this was not what concerned him today. His Tuesdays were now filled, like most of his other weekdays, not with teaching idiots to recognize Aconite and hoping none of them could get him blown up, but with overseeing the Carrows in detail through well-placed portal spells. He must ensure no student was killed. Beyond this he spent time searching for Potter and his sidekicks, to hand off the sword that Dumbledore had assured him was vital to stop the Dark Lord. He stalked the castle at times, tailing Crabbe, Goyle, and Zabini, who had taken to following young girls as Amycus was wont to do. Recently he'd received orders for more potions from the Dark Lord, and between brewing these correctly and intervening when Amycus or Alecto got too carried away, he was exhausted. He'd set six House Elves to following Amycus and the other males of suspect with strict orders that he be alerted if any of them made any attempts, however slight, to overpower the girls.

Nightly he informed Dumbledore's portrait of any activity, and they listed together the next steps to keep the students safe and search for Potter. He was weary of his tasks, but Severus had never left his cauldron early before a potion was done, and he was not about to start now. That he had been playing a double-sided life for close to twenty years was not a concern. The only things he valued were solitude and the thrill of success when his potions could save lives, rather than ending them.

He was not without faults. Snape had always been aware of his darker side. When his last batch had been ruined by those brats who thought they knew him, but were as stupidly assumptive as the Death Eaters, he had been angry beyond any level he'd experienced in decades. He had toiled over perfecting the Flesh-Eating Potion so that it bled the victim to fainting, but stopped at this point, allowing them an hour of painless sleep before the secondary effects kicked in and their blood and flesh began to replenish. A month was gone, his prototype destroyed, and in a fit of rage he hadn't felt since Lily had chosen James Potter, he had fired off a horrible curse he had forgotten even existed without thought. He had not expected to be stunned, and could not remember who he had been fighting. Desperate, he had searched the castle for a whole night, looking with fearful eyes for a body he hoped never to find. Snape had been filled with dread, sure that he had murdered for the first time in seventeen years.

So when the Lovegood girl had come up to him at breakfast the following morning and informed him quietly that she knew of a patient who was healing, but did not know where he was kept, he'd brushed aside her silly concern over his "tired eyes" and dragged the waif into his office. Here, at last, was the break he'd been dreaming of. With Veritaserum he provoked her, but to no avail; the girl was either tied by an Unbreakable Vow, a Fidelius, or she was exceptionally good at redirection. He professed himself puzzled when she smiled as he threatened to use the Cruciatus, and informed him politely that she didn't think he was that kind of person. He concluded from his view into her mind, however short it was, that not only was the DA indeed working against the Carrows and himself, but they had a possible outsider in the castle. After all, how could a mere student heal an Enflaria victim? Obviously the students were better equipped than he'd imagined, though who was teaching them to duel professionally and who had performed what he assumed now was a Fidelius, he had no idea.

Snape had spent time pondering his next move carefully. The Lovegood girl had seemed unperturbed by his journey through her mind, and he wanted to keep her open to the idea of sharing. He'd seen a few faces of potential DA members whom he'd already guessed at, and this served as merely a confirmation. With the image of the Weasley girl's socks in his mind, he made his next choice; he would focus on learning Ginny's secrets and teaching her to protect herself, for the girl had no idea how much danger she was in. Amycus and Alecto might not realize that the girl knew of the diary or what it even was, as neither was in the Dark Lord's inner circle, but Severus assumed they knew she was connected to Potter romantically as well as by family. The girl could be used for information on the Order as well as bait for Potter, and she was readily available, unlike the rest of her family. Amycus had already followed her twice for his own purposes. Snape stunned him from behind the first time and sent the house elf Winky to her rescue the second time. From what he had seen, she was likely an organizer of these students, if not the sole leader, and if she knew where Potter might be, she must be forced to talk to him before the Dark Lord could use her.

With this in mind, he'd waited for an opportunity for days to put the girl in weekly detention with him, and ultimately succumbed to transfiguring one of the many pieces of student artwork gracing the walls to match her handwriting. The girl had been insolent but stupidly refused to declare herself innocent, something that had astounded and intrigued him. Severus was rarely caught flabbergasted. She'd certainly been beaten and Crucio'ed enough this year, yet she did not shy away from pain. The portraits had even alerted him that she was setting out from Gryffindor tower just five minutes ago, and Snape knew it meant she'd be on time, if not early, to her first of many Saturday detentions to come.

The revolving stone steps shuddered behind him, and he pivoted to see his pupil. She looked curiously around his office, and her eyes rested wide for a moment on the sword in the glass case. Though she could be as hotheaded as her mother, Snape hoped she would prove a more apt apprentice than Potter had been in Occlumency. She had her father's quiet, direct nature and the talented wandwork of Molly Weasley, whom Severus knew had been a challenging dueler in her school days. It was with anxiety that he had set up these meetings; looking at her now, he was almost struck dumb at the resemblance to Lily. The girl was redheaded, yes, but her frame was shorter, more athletic, more curvy. It was her determination and her quiet strength that reminded Snape of his darling Lily more than any physical feature, though. Fiercely loyal, he knew that no matter what Potter might be doing while away, she still cared for him like the foolish Gryffindor she was. She had no knowledge that Potter must die to end the Dark Lord. Snape feared her existence upon Potter's death would mirror his own empty, Lily-less life.

"I'm here as you requested, Headmaster," she intoned with blank eyes. He was inclined to raise an eyebrow, but resolved to commence circling his prey.

"You are here, as I am sure you have doubtlessly inferred, to be questioned as to your activities this term against this school and the Dark Lord. I have surmised from evidence throughout the year that you, Miss Weasley, have been at the root of much of our . . . delinquency," he began, in his most menacing tone. "You will answer my questions or suffer my . . . most unfortunate displeasure."

"So I need only provide an answer, not the truth?" the girl asked, and Severus was amazed to see her eyes remained passive, and her voice did not shake or reveal any emotion. He had brought her here on trumped up charges, and they both knew it. He had expected glaring and cries of damnation, but instead he found himself dealing with an altogether different creature.

"I will ascertain the truth from your replies, rest assured, Miss Weasley," he smirked. "You will not hide a detail from me, though I am sure you will try most imprudently. Take your seat," he commanded.

At this the girl's eyes drifted up to Dumbledore's portrait, but nonetheless she was subdued. Severus flicked his wand and the chair edged closer to her back in warning, and then the girl sat, staring intently at a spot above his head on the wall.

"I believe some refreshment is in order before we begin. You will not be doing lines or completing work for me in our meetings, but rather you will be answering my questions about this school, and providing me with information on your friends and their troublemaking. I expect you will comply eventually, but I will not be afraid to use force if you do not. Tea?" he sneered, levitating a cup to her. The girl met his eyes for a brief second and strangely, he saw triumph flick through them, before she reached out her hand and fingered the cup.

"Well, sir, I could- I am thirsty- but I assume you will have made your own special _brew_, Headmaster," she replied without a hint of cheek. So she was not a fool, then- she had to know from Potter at least that he had Veritaserum in stock. He'd try to trap her into admitting her suspicions.

"I suggest you drink it anyways, Miss Weasley. Whether or not I have given you your preferred blend is not of consequence."

"Well, then, I guess I do fancy a cuppa," she said quietly, and he watched as she lifted the cup. Her lips were slightly open, he noticed, and he was shocked to see her swallow the liquid she'd sipped. Her wand was in her pocket; she could not have faked this. Did she not suspect after all? Or did she . . . _ah, yes, there was the problem._ _Antidote_, he thought wisely.

"You are no fool, Miss Weasley, but you do foolish things. You knew there was likely Veritaserum in that cup, yet you drank it. Why would you do such a thing?"

"I have nothing to hide."

Snape made a noise of dissent and stared at her blank eyes. "Surely you do not expect me to believe this. Either you have decided you have no other alternative but to drink the tea, or you know you are capable of outwitting the Veritaserum. Since all the Weasleys are incapable of holding their tongue for the sake of survival, I surmise that either you are protected by an antidote taken before entering this chamber, or your tongue is held by more permanent means," he concluded silkily. The girl ignored his question, her face pale but devoid of emotion, and Snape grew frustrated. With a quick nonverbal, he sliced a thin cut across both her arms, watching as she winced but did not cry out. Blood began to run onto the arms of the chair.

"I suggest you tell me which of the two it is. Otherwise, I will be forced to take further action."

"What would you like to know?" Weasley proferred, once more looking above his head.

Snape swooped in for his catch. "You have made your first critical mistake. One who is skilled in the art of deception does not let their enemy direct the conversation. You must offer a hint of what they want, allow them to ask what you fear and then pull apart their question. If you expect them to lead, you will retain no control. It is advisable only when you are facing one whose skills are less than your own, and that is certainly not the case here."

"I know you're good at deception, _Headmaster_. I, however, have never lied to those near me, and I do not believe you will find anything of interest in my head, should you peruse it as I am sure you are contemplating now."

"Do not toy with me, little girl. _You know Potter's location, you know what he is doing_- do not expect me to believe, after your failure in first year, that you have never lied. You are weak and you know this, but feigning innocence cannot protect you when you have already been caught!"

At this the girl paled just slightly, but her eyes did not widen as he had expected. Snape sent two more cutting hexes at her arms, deeper than the first, and she flinched and exhaled sharply but made no further sound.

"You will tell me where Potter is. Where is he working from?" he demanded.

The girl looked him in the eyes, a major flaw, and replied with startling finesse, "I don't know. He left me. I have not seen him in months and-"

"DO NOT LIE! YOU KNOW WHERE HE IS!" Snape yelled, leaning over his desk. The hum of the portraits behind him had hushed, and the girl looked away from his eyes.

"Potter broke up with me." She said flatly. "My family hates him for it- Mum didn't want him near us, it's too dangerous. Your _friends_ were at my brother's wedding, they'll tell you he wasn't there," she replied firmly, and Snape sent another cutting hex at her arms.

"Not good enough, Miss Weasley. Yes, Potter was not apprehended at your family home, but I know your brothers were seen when Potter was leaving his relatives' home in Little Whinging. Was this not after your dear, deluded hero deserted you?"

Snape stared into her eyes, hoping to see defeat or anger. He saw a flash of emotion, something he could not place, before she replied smoothly, "My brothers wished to help him escape to safety. After that night they wanted nothing to do with him. _George lost an ear, if you recall_, Headmaster," she continued, almost sweetly, as if to a child. "Potter nearly got us killed for his favor. My Mum has a family to protect- she said we were to cut all ties with him."

"You are lying. You are foolish like your father- idealistic to a fault, expecting miracles when you defy the Dark Lord's plans. Your mother would never tear herself from suffocating poor helpless Potter with affection unless he killed one of her own brats. You have been instructed by the Order to lead students at this school against me. Where do you meet!?"

The girl smiled smugly. "I have never been instructed to lead any students against you, _Headmaster_." Snape tightened his eyes and glared. "So you did take the antidote, then? If you were under a Fidelius, you would not be able to say anything in reply." Again, she was silent.

"Did you break into my private stores and steal the antidote?" he whispered intensely.

At this emotion flooded her eyes, and Snape noted, exasperated, that if she was lying, she was much better than he'd thought. "Someone got into your office? This office?" she asked dramatically. "I do not keep my potions stores in my Headmaster's office, little girl, as you know," he sneered. _Perhaps a change of tactics, to throw her off guard, _he thought to himself.

"If I offered your family safety, would you tell me where Potter is?" he said softly. He had not deigned to place kindness in his voice, and it was clear the girl did not infer any from this offer.

"I think I'd have to know where Potter was to tell you, and I don't know where he is," she replied slowly, and Snape watched her carefully. She wasn't getting off that easily. "So you would be interested in my offer were you capable of fulfilling it?" he articulated.

"Not necessarily," she began. Snape slashed a fourth cut into her shoulder, and the girl continued on as though it had not happened. "I would do anything to save my family, but I don't wish for Potter to die. I don't care what happens to him anymore, but I wouldn't hand him in just to get back at him," she prattled convincingly. Snape was impressed, to say the least. _Perhaps a bit further before he pushed her again._ "But you would turn him in for your family's sake?" he probed. He was gently loosening her mind, running his eyes through her barriers, looking for cracks as she answered. Her eyes drifted up and to her right- a sign of truth-telling, he knew, though she might have anticipated this physical clue and prepared it to feign truth. She ignored his question.

"Did you break into my stores and steal potions?"

"I thought you said there was only Veritaserum missing, sir?" she responded quickly.

"No," he replied, smiling at her attempt and cutting her arms twice more, "there were several brews missing. There were also many potions of my own invention that were destroyed. I'm sure you knew this, Miss Weasley."

The girl shook her head and Snape watched her sharply, still trying to find a place in which to begin his attack. He'd seen no images so far beyond the stone wall she was throwing up around her mind, and his own mind was tiring of traversing it. Why did it glow green? What wall could she possibly have seen that looked like this to copy for her defenses?

"Perhaps we could hurry our conversation along. I have established that you are protecting yourself from _saying_ anything that would give you or your . . . _accomplices_ away, but I have, for the most part, left your mind untouched." Here the girl met his eyes, and suddenly he was thrown off track as the image of her waving cheekily and shaking her bum at him ran through his mind in front of the green-lit stone wall. _She had chosen to show him this!_

"HOW DARE YOU?! YOU WILL TELL ME WHERE POTTER IS!" he roared, spit flying from his mouth. How dare the brat send him something like that? _He needed to find Potter!_ She was shielding her mind better than the boy had ever done, better than most of his companions in black! Yet her face was paler than ever, and the blood from her cuts had slowed as it pooled onto the floor. Yes, she would break soon.

"I do not know where Potter is," she replied shakily, and Snape pressed into her mind with all his force. Still she did not fall, and he felt the familiar nausea of prolonged legilimency strike at him. She gripped the table, shaking with her effort to drive him back, and he struggled before relenting to his last, most unpleasant option.

"CRUCIO!" he cried, and the girl began to scream. Her arms seized the chair tight, and she flailed twice before he lifted the curse. "YOU WILL TELL ME WHERE POTTER IS HIDING!"

"I DON'T KNOW!" She shouted, and he sent the curse at her again. Again she writhed, and he lifted it, letting her catch her breath. Tears were streaming down her face, and he tried her mind once more before she could regroup. The ghostly green stone walls held. "WHERE IS POTTER!?" he snarled, shaking her violently. _Merlin, he hated this._ If only she would let him in, he could stop hurting her. _He needed Potter_. The girl glared at him finally in hatred, and Severus knew she was close to breaking. "CRUCIO!" he yelled, and she did not scream, but tears fell down as her eyes lit on his in loathing. Her entire body shook, and the portraits behind him were yelling obscenities at him.

"HE LEFT ME! THE BLOODY ARSE LEFT ME! I DON'T CARE WHERE HE IS!"

"LIES! TELL ME WHERE POTTER IS!"

"I DON'T KNOW!"

"DO NOT LIE TO ME, I KNOW YOU KNOW! YOU BROKE INTO MY POTIONS STORES, YOU TOOK AN ANTIDOTE TODAY; YOU MAY BE ABLE TO DISPELL THE VERITASERUM, BUT YOU CANNOT HIDE YOUR MIND!" he shrieked, sending a cutting hex at her legs. The girl howled in pain, reaching for her wand, and he summoned it, letting the new cut begin to stain her trousers. She was growing close, so close to breaking, and he fed on it, throwing everything he had at her walls, beating against the same spots. Images of Potter holding her hand, kissing her, of watching Potter fly from below on the pitch, sped past, and he knew she was losing her battle to control these happy memories. Those she feared would come next.

"WHERE DO THE STUDENTS MEET?" he demanded, trying to throw her off track. She shook her head and he repeated his command. "I don't know what you're talking about," she cried, and Snape saw the wild, fearful look he knew meant she was breaking.

"CRUCIO!" he cried, and he held it for a full minute, helpless, watching her scream with dark eyes.

Her stone walls cracked, and Snape felt a rush of exhilaration as he progressed into her mind at last. Images of the Lovegood girl tinkering with a radio flashed past, and the Longbottom boy in a dark room he didn't recognize battling what looked like an Auror training dummy. Her hair was shorter in these, but he could tell they were recent memories. Charlie Weasley facing a dragon flashed before him, and a young Ginny screamed with joy from beside him as he pulled her close to help her pet the gargantuan tail. _No, this was older, much further from what he wanted . . ._ A pair of identical redheaded boys he'd loathed appeared, locking a ramshackle outhouse and patting a tiny Ginny, and he turned right, trying to find new memories- a young Potter was sitting at a table in a wood-panelled kitchen, and Ginny was brushing butter surreptitiously from her elbow- _no, this was still not right_- Ginny was crying in the loo, locked in a stall, with paint all down her front- _well, there was something he could use_- the girl was flying with the Gryffindors, and she was scoring against her brother- _still, too old_- and finally, Snape turned again and found another wall meeting him. A replica of the girl who was shaking in the chair before him was standing, wait, rebellion blazing on her face, and he stalked to her and glowered down at her short form.

"Let me pass, Weasley," he commanded coldly, but she lifted her hand in anger and suddenly he was thrust back with a power he could never have forseen. _The girl had been coached!_ He had thought she might have read a book, but she could never have accomplished this kind of barrier on her own! Racing to the other side of her mind, he probed the side of this new wall, certain that what he wanted lay behind it. He had seen snippets of the student meetings, so they were protected but not mentally like this was- _this was sure to be Potter! _

"It won't open," came a tense voice from his side. "It will never open for you, Headmaster," the replica of Ginny hissed quietly.

"You will show me where Potter is hiding, or I will force you! I CAN BREAK YOU, GIRL!" he yelled in her mind, pushing against the wall that would not budge. It glowed green, like the other, and he was forced back again, against his will, as he pushed harder.

"I WILL DIE BEFORE I LET YOU IN, YOU BASTARD!" the replica cried, and suddenly she was a tiny thing, shrunk to the size of a younger girl, and she was pounding on the walls in her mind, screaming pitiful screams for help, _and the DARK LORD WAS THERE! _

He was younger, far younger than Snape had ever seen, and his eyes flashed red but retained their human shape. His hair was black, but somehow transparent, and his form glowed as though he were a ghost and yet _he couldn't be_, for Riddle- the Dark Lord- had died when she was a baby- and _she could never have met him to remember him- unless-_

Yes, this was the memory Riddle, the one who had plagued the girl for a year. Snape watched in horror as she beat against her own walls and the imagined Riddle laughed his high, cold laugh, the one that Snape had feared for twenty years, that still drove his body to tingling with the want to run far, far away. The young girl bawled for help, and fell over, shaking, and then she was standing again, her body once more a mirror image of the woman she was now, and her face was a picture of hate. "GET OUT!" she screamed, and the Dark Lord's memory vanished as she shot spells at it, though none of them made contact. Snape found himself standing once more in his office, panting and winded, flung from her mind as though she had slapped him out. The girl was shaking convulsively, and her legs and arms were covered in blood. Snape looked to her eyes, and she was sweating, her hair mangled by her neck, and she looked at him as though every movement was excruciatingly painful.

"That was most informative, Miss Weasley," he rasped at last, and the girl trembled once, still crying, before she averted her eyes and her face began to settle back from wild fear into controlled anger.

"I don't care. If I can keep him out for all these years, I can keep you out forever," she replied scathingly. Snape couldn't help the eyebrows that shot to the ceiling.

"But he got in before, didn't he, Miss Weasley?" he continued, catching his breath.

"It matters not," she hissed between deep breaths. Her eyes met his again, and she glared at him. "Stay out of my mind. I am not the little girl I was then."

Snape glowered. "You cannot keep me out forever. _You are weak_, you will let me see soon. You cannot hope to keep him out if he wishes to see your inner most secrets," he warned.

"_Tom can seek, but he will never find them_. I kn-know him, but he does not know me. N-neither do you. If you cannot understand me, you c-cannot break me." Severus was shocked into silence, but not by her use of the Dark Lord's given name, something few knew. This girl was more powerful than he could have predicted. She matched his talents, and he could feel her fears feeding her determination, yet it did not unravel her barriers as it did with others. She was impenetrable, a fortress beyond his reach.

Severus sighed. "Go and lick your wounds, Miss Weasley. We will continue this in a week's time. I can assure you, I will be ready to read your mind with ease."

The girl arose, grasping her wand from his hand. With two silent swishes her hair was straight and neat in her ponytail, and in another the skin on her arms was knitting back together. Her trousers were stained but the deep cut had sealed in seconds before his eyes.

"I look forward to teaching you _the art of deception_, _Headmaster_," she said heatedly, and the infuriatingly blank look had returned, though Severus could have sworn her eyes were on fire behind the murky brown mask.


	15. Come Together, Right Now, Over Me

Hello All!

326 visitors! Sweet! Thanks so much for following the story; I have some time on my hands and I'll be trying to update daily for the next ten days or so. We should be close to Easter in the story by the time I go back to school in Sept and then the story will get much more violent for a bit, but hopefully much more thrilling as well. I'll return to weekly updates then. Please Review!

Cheers!

Jenna

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15

Remus

He was starting to wonder if he'd never reach an age where surprise was beyond him. It was something Dumbledore had joked about often. Firstly, the fact that he was in this Room, which Padfoot had always insisted existed after that time he'd been snogging Becca and needed a place to lie low and avoid Filch. It never ceased to astound him how Hogwarts rallied to fix the wizarding world's problems; after all, half of the last Order had been graduates fresh from the school's arms, and with what he was seeing here, it seemed this war would follow the same groove. Nearly sixty kids, some of whom he recognized from his days teaching, were bustling through the common area before him, some yelling catcalls at other dueling groups, others posing for a picture that Demelza was snapping of each team. "To post them on the Wall," she'd explained, showing him how the pictures moved to show which teams were winning. It was fascinating.

They'd formed an entirely new culture. Lavender Brown, the girl he'd never seen absent her lip gloss or some heavy hair potions, was in the corner showing a pair of younger girls how to add undetectable pockets to their robes to store vials of precious dittany and blood replenishing potion. Meek little Hannah Abbott was demonstrating the healing of burns to several third years, who had _signed up_ for a class with her. _Hannah was teaching_. And quite well, from what he could see. Quentin, Veroniqua, Yulang and Audrey, kids who he'd remembered last as timid first years, were now in fifth, tall and lean, and were intently preparing a shimmering set of paints in the middle of the Room in six separate cauldrons to the radio charmed to play Beatles hits, of all things. Remus felt like he'd gone back twenty years: The Longbottoms should be in the center, looking up complicated wards for their new home. James should have been standing with Lily at his side, teasing her mercilessly while she whipped up polyjuice. Padfoot would have been practicing his patronus, surrounded by the various young women of the Order, laughing his head off when they asked if he knew why it was a dog. Dorcas and lovely Marlene would be spelling pamphlets over tea, and just as in this scenario, the Beatles would be playing. Caradoc would be dueling with Gideon and Fabian, and Molly, as always, would be trying to feed them all. And Moody would be clunking around, his eyes still matching, rechecking the wards for the sixtieth time.

The differences were clear- a generation lost, and another melding into their place- but he was nonetheless shocked to see how far they'd progressed without a teacher. These dueling teams seemed to be a source of entertainment, with a tournament every weekend, and third and fourth years he'd never known were sitting and chatting as they planned out their next graffiti. Ginny had told him that apart from defense lessons that was all they were _ordered to do_, until they reached "combat age" at fifth year and could go on missions. Remus had paled and watched as she had suddenly diverted, throwing herself into Dora's arms as she entered through the portal to Aberforth's pub.

It was amazing what Neville could do when he put his mind to it. Remus and Dora had been sitting down to dinner- in itself, a rare event, as their schedules were often mixed- when a patronus entered that made Remus go cold. It wasn't until it started speaking in Ginny's voice that he realized with compassion her horse had switched to Lily's old one. She asked that he and Tonks go to the Hog's Head this Saturday and tell Aberforth they were here to "see some sights". They'd come alone, fully prepared to chastise Ginny for sneaking out of school- and were met by Neville Longbottom, who informed them that he'd found a way to connect the Room of Requirement to the portrait in Aberforth's home.

Now, ten minutes of steep walking later, he had stepped into a large common room bearing three of the four houses' crests, and he was surrounded by chattering, excited students. The unmistakable sounds of dueling were to his right as he gazed, bewildered, at a huge copy of their beloved Marauder's Map, and now Dora was nudging him and winking, telling him that apparently, it was infamous enough to get the place of honor. Remus threw his head back and laughed- it was so good to see happiness, and there could be no finer purpose for his Map. Prongs and Padfoot would have undoubtedly agreed.

A door opened and three triumphant, whooping figures came tumbling out, wands raised high, and Remus watched as their picture was slid into place above fifteen others. It seemed they had reached the next level. Cheers went up and two of the girls went into a play-by-play analysis of the duel, while the third stumbled to Ernie Macmillan, who started healing what looked like a broken wrist.

"So what can we do for you today, Gin?" Dora asked, pulling Ginny and Susan's happy hands away from stroking her belly. A third girl, who Remus thought was Parvati, though he couldn't be sure, was talking to their little one with her ear pressed to Dora's navel. "He's not quite big enough to read stories to yet, sadly enough," Remus joked, and the three girls turned watery, joyous eyes to him, smiling. _Witches_. He'd never understand their fascination with babies. Not that babies weren't amazing, but these girls looked like they were contemplating getting knocked up right this very second just to have one of their own.

Ginny, as predicted, tore herself away first. "We need someone to show us some new spells. I have a list here of what the third and fourth years have mastered, and each year above that as well- just add the first list onto all the upper years, they've got those down pat. We were wondering if you could give us any news, too. I can get them to settle down," she trailed off, looking over the noisy babble.

"OI! COOL IT YOU LOT!" Came Seamus' carrying yell. Ginny chuckled at him as he pulled Lavender over, his arm coming to rest on her waist like it was a permanent attachment. Bit by bit the students were trickling into the common area, and fifteen more ran down from what he guessed were dormitories upstairs. There were at least eighty expectant faces gathering, and Ginny, Neville, Luna, and a handful of other older students were watching them. Talking had ceased, amazingly, the moment Seamus had yelled.

"We have something special today- some experienced fighters to speak with us. They're risking a lot by coming into the castle, and we'll be giving them our attention for the afternoon. I don't want to hear any complaints. If they ask you to show what you've got, do it- and don't be afraid to jinx them if they say so," Neville began. Where had the boy he remembered vanished to? His deep, assertive voice and strong stance reminded Remus of Kingsley, and he saw Terry Boot, Anthony Goldstein, and Michael Corner taking up positions by the door, pulling on black bodysuits.

"It's alright," Ginny muttered to him. "They're our patrols for today; we needed to have some of our own to watch for the Carrows and the Slytherins. The portraits were getting tired of finding one of us and we can only use the house elves so much before they draw suspicion. They're disillusioned and they put silencing charms on their feet," she assured, as though tailing Alecto and Amycus was a normal, everyday routine. "We can't seem to get anyone who can watch Snape without getting caught," she finished, anger spiking into her eyes. Remus felt hatred rise up in him at the thought of the man who had ruined so much. Yes, Snape would surely be a challenge for school children. Though they didn't seem much like children, he thought, looking over the serious faces that were riveted to his own.

"May I introduce Remus Lupin and Nym-"

"Don't you dare, Ginny," Dora growled from beside him, and the Room was filled with hastily silenced chuckles.

"Right, this is Tonks," Ginny finished with a cheeky grin.

Remus stepped forward, eyeing the list of spell work they'd mastered. Dora was saying hello to them all, and he'd let her handle the update on news. From the snippets that he processed in between perusing the list of ridiculously advanced spells the seventh years now knew, he gathered she was doing so in an unorthodox, thoroughly-Dora way.

"So Quidditch is mostly on hold, there were a few fall games, but after the Harpies got attacked in the middle of a tourney, mostly they're biding their time and practicing. I heard word that Krum is touring Germany looking to start his own team, and there's a new player from Beauxbatons that joined the French Team her first year out! Honeydukes is closed- _yes, I know, no levitating cream balls-_ and Diagon Alley is pretty bad. Gringotts is safe, for now, but I wouldn't advise doing your Christmas shopping there. Use owl order if you can. We've had two attacks there in the last six weeks- mostly on individuals, but that doesn't mean they won't attack there just to cause panic before the Holidays."

"What about music? Do you know what's new?" a sandy haired boy asked from the back.

"Well, I haven't heard any new albums except for the Weird Sisters and Vampire Bloodbath, but the second is more heavy metal. Oh, wait- there was also a new Celestina Warbeck, though she's a bit, ehm, old for you all," Tonks continued, to many sounds of disgust.

"So there's no one playing? No concerts?" asked a girl to the left with black paint under her eyes.

"Nope, sorry, there are some private things going on in clubs and such, but even those are pretty subdued- too dangerous to get lots of wizards together, you know, security- and it's much easier to imperious someone when they're being jostled by a crowd and no one's paying attention. The Ministry isn't doing anything about it; You know about Thickness, the Minister- he's a puppet for You-Know-Who?"

Ginny tsked and Neville looked at Tonks sharply. "We say the name around here, Tonks- we've been adamant about making sure everyone does. If they can't they make up an insulting nickname," Neville informed them.

"The name has been tabooed. Anyone who says it can be located by Snatchers," Remus supplied. "Is that not the case here?"

"We've been saying it for months now, nobody's bothered us. I don't think the spell works on Hogwarts grounds," Yulang offered.

"Well, that's handy," Dora grinned, and a few others called out their nicknames. Remus' eyes widened and he grinned- Frumpy Tits was undoubtedly the best he'd heard in years.

"So then, you've got some news- of sorts- from my dear wife," Remus began, and Dora playfully slapped him. This was met with clapping and congratulations, and a few startled intonations of "_You_ _got MARRIED, Professor?!_"

"Yes, I did, and as you can see from Dora's belly, we're expecting a tiny hippogriff in a few months," Remus laughed.

"More like multicolored werepup," Dora whispered cheekily from beside him, and he pulled her against him and hugged her to continued whooping and catcalls.

"EH-HEM," Ginny coughed, in a spot-on Umbridge impersonation, and a bunch of the students laughed as Remus drew his wand and looked around. "Might we get started, then? We'd like some opinions and some advice, if you please."

After dividing them up by year, Remus found they refused to be separated into houses. Instead, he opted to pair them off in groups of four and ask that they demonstrate the spell they would use first against an approaching opponent. He was surprised by how quickly they moved- groups formed across the Room, spreading out and as solemn and focused as any fighters he'd seen. Dora immediately began walking amongst the younger ones, correcting posture, showing them how to crouch low, presenting less of their body as a target. She demonstrated a quick side roll and stunner, and he was distracted, wanting to tell her off from rolling their little hippogriff inside her. Remus watched the postures of the older students- the fifth years were keeping their heads down too much, but the sixth and seventh years were bent over, eyes up, some leaning to the side with a shield charm up. Ginny and Neville had gone back-to-back and were mirror images of the other, protecting one another's weaknesses.

"Excellent! Look here!" Remus yelled. "This is best for when you're cornered or outnumbered, see how they can talk to one another without their opponent hearing?"

A murmur went up and several others began to pair up, trying to mimic. "If you're on the run this doesn't help much, but stationary, that's the best," Dora agreed. "Let's show them a Durmstrang shield, give them something to work towards," Remus suggested, and Dora hurried over, tripping on the rug. The students giggled a bit, but Remus knew that in combat, his wife was a fierce, smooth fighter. Only when relaxed did she grow clumsy. He'd often wondered if it was from changing her height and figure for morphs so often.

"Do you really think they can handle this?" His wife questioned, looking out over the young faces.

"It might be difficult if you don't show us, but I'm sure we'll get the handle of it soon," Luna chimed in from his side. Pulling Dora over so they were in front of the crowd of fighters, they stood back to back and concentrated, their two wandless hands outstretched above them.

At once a silvery shield burst around them, and spread to cover their bodies.

"Wandless magic! Oh, goody!" Luna clapped, and cries of excitement went up around the Room.

"You must put complete trust in your partner to do this," Dora explained. "I am shielding Remus, and his magic is enclosing me."

"We must concentrate on the spell and a happy memory of the person we wish to protect- it must have real emotion behind it. You cannot connect this way with a witch or wizard you do not know, so it is only useful in combat when you know your partner very intimately," Remus continued, and sniggers went up at his use of the word "intimate". Biting his tongue and shushing a laughing Dora, he focused on keeping his face less-than-Weasley-red and described the position of their hands and the incantation, Protego Amaris, that they should say in their heads. "You can call the spell out, but it's best to use nonverbal," Dora was telling the students. "It takes a few seconds once you've both activated the spell for to be in place, and if you give away your plan, most Death Eaters will take you out before the shield can go up."

Around them students were partnering up, some joining other groups than from before, and Remus watched as hands were rising and faces were squinching up. "The best part is that you can fire spells with your wand at your opponents, but their spells- except for the Avada Kedavra- cannot cross your shield. You are rooted to the spot, though, and you cannot move your feet until your partner deactivates the spell. You do so by 'Finite Amaris'."

Remus shook his head. "An Avada Kedavra must be powerful enough and propelled by the true desire to murder for the spell to kill you," he clarified to grim faces. "Even if you are hit by one, it may not kill you if the caster is not fully prepared to sever their soul and end your life. You may just be knocked out, like a bad stunner."

"Avada Kedavra doesn't always kill you?" Demelza voiced, shocked.

"Of course not. All spells have to have desire to propel them. Your magic and your mind have to work together," Luna responded in a matter-of-fact voice.

"I've been hit by one that just stunned, before," Dora admitted softly, and the crowd's eyes were fixed on her. Remus shivered. He knew the story, had been there to see it happen- and though he'd felt her pulse before racing after Harry, it had been a terrifying day filled with pain and wrenching fear. "It was at the Department of Mysteries, Bellatrix sent one at me, but she wasn't focused- she was switching to- t-to fight another," Dora explained.

Ginny had tears in her eyes and reached out to hug Dora, and Luna joined them. "I didn't know," Ginny whispered, barely high enough for Remus to hear from beside her.

The Room was silent, and the girls separated. Neville patted Dora clumsily, averting his eyes. Luna smiled at Ginny and they stood back-to-back, raising their hands. "Like this?" Ginny asked, concentrating hard. Remus nodded, knowing it would take months perhaps for the girls to master. Few could do wandless magic- even Dumbledore had only mastered it in his later years. But the pressures of the war and the bonds these students had formed seemed to overpower the odds, and after a minute and a half of silence, a silvery sheen surrounded both the girls almost simultaneously, and cheers erupted, drowning out all other thoughts.

The girls were visible, standing with their hands shaking only slightly, and Luna tried firing a spell at the same time. Her Impedimentia hit a jumping, clapping third year who stumbled back and hit the couch behind him to great applause. Ginny's eyebrows furrowed, and Remus' jaw dropped as a stunner hit Neville square in the chest. More yells and jumping, and Dora threw her arms around him.

"More of you! Come on, if they can do it, so can you!" She cried, and Ginny and Luna were beaming, still holding their shield in place, as more pairs swiftly took places around the Room and spells were called out.

The rest of that Saturday was a blur for Remus. After three hours of work, five more pairs had gained their shields, though most still took a longer time than was wanted to get their shields in place. Luna, Neville, Ginny, and Hannah could form perfect shields at will in three seconds with one another, and Susan Bones could form one with Ginny, Hannah, or Ernie. Parvati and Padma were found to be the quickest, faster even than Tonks and Remus, and could hold the shield for a full fifteen minutes. Even Lavender and Seamus had managed a momentary shield, and Michael Corner had sheepishly asked Demelza to try with him. Their shield had lasted a full three minutes, and they'd been able to fire spells as well. When a third year had fainted because she "forgot to breathe" while concentrating, Remus knew it was time to stop. They'd taken a break, though none of the kids had wanted to. Luna had disappeared, returning with none other than Dobby, Winky, and _Kreacher_- whom Remus almost fainted at seeing whole, _polite_, and _**clean**_- and heaping trays of "the first course, Masters and Mistresses!" as Dobby had proclaimed. They feasted on rolls, mashed taters, chicken legs, mince pies, and _salad_- which Luna claimed was part of their new physical training regimen.

"Thank you so much, Remus, Dora," Neville said gratefully, shaking their hands. "We really appreciate any time you can spare in the future. We'll try to make it on weekends, though- we would all try to skip class if you came on a weekday, and it'd draw too much attention to have so many missing altogether. As it is, we've been sending individuals out to walk around and be seen periodically, to keep up appearances," Neville recounted. Remus nodded. He'd seen Ernie and Hannah periodically pulling students out of their groups and whispering, before they walked to one of the three doors on the back wall and exited.

"That's the one thing I can't figure out- how have you kept the Carrows- or Snape for that matter- from noticing all of you coming and going from the door?" Remus asked, watching as Dora was swinging a tiny, giggling third year around by her wand.

"Oh, _that_-" Hannah cut in proudly from beside Neville. "Well, Nev here has a bit of genius in him. He's connected those doors in the back to the boys' and girls' loos in each house- they come out in the last stall at the end, the ones no one ever uses, and as long as someone isn't using the passage in the other bathroom- like a girl and boy, both from Hufflepuff, trying to get in at the same time- they can walk right through. We keep someone in the Room each night so it stays open. They have to be carrying their coin, though, and say the password- I think Anthony has some coins for you two, and one for Bill, as Ginny asked."

"I have something useful for your fighters as well, and I thank you in advance for the coins. How do they work? A protean, I'm guessing? I remember the ones Hermione made," Remus offered.

"They grow hot if someone presses them. That means there's a message. The phoenix side is for team messages and the goblin side is for personal ones- you just tap the side of the coin, think of your message, then say 'protenio' and the name of the person the message is for. It transfers to their coin. If the coin grows cold, that's an alert- it means we're about to have our bags and dorms checked, and everyone needs to conceal their stuff if it's connected to the DA. We've been lucky so far," Neville described. Remus was struck once more by his authoritative, knowledgeable tone. Hannah loped her arm into Neville's, fingers in his, and Neville didn't even redden. "Should I call Ginny over? We had a few personal requests," Hannah said quietly.

"Of course. I'll let Dora know we're leaving soon," Remus voiced. He extricated a laughing Dora from a group of younger students, who were watching her morph her nose to that of various animals to great applause. She stood up slowly, holding her belly, and Remus stroked a hand over it, thinking of how grateful he was that she'd forgiven him. He couldn't imagine never seeing his son or daughter grow up, not being a part of Dora's life. The war was sure to worsen, and they might not make it out alive, but these precious moments watching her laugh and holding her close, her honeysuckle smell wafting up to tempt his nose, made every second of life that much more wonderful. He called Ginny over, requesting a private word, and Dora exchanged the same look with him of anxiety, knowing what he was going to ask.

"Ginny, I don't know exactly how to ask this," Remus whispered gruffly, watching her face, "but I know that in the last war, many of Voldemort's followers took to -hurting- young women who they found attractive. Has anyone been bothering you or the other girls?" His heart dropped at her eyes flashing anger and pain, but once she saw his face, she intervened.

"No! Well, we've been followed- mostly Lavender, Parvati and I- but the elves always show up and take us to another part of the castle. That's part of the reason why we have the patrols now. Remus, the f-first time, he got my skirt up- Amycus had my wand, and I kept s-screaming, but he'd silenced me- and then he was stunned. I couldn't see who did it. Winky came and got me in seconds and she lifted all the spells. Michael keeps pressuring me to let him walk me to class now," she said angrily. "Seamus has been walking Lav to all her classes. Neville's partnered with Hannah, Terry with Padma, and Anthony with Parvati. None of the other girls have been, erm, harassed- except for Susan- and Ernie's been sticking to her like they're attached at the hip ever since. I think it annoys her, actually," Ginny said matter-of-factly. Remus let out a breath of relief and told her to let him know if anything did happen. "We'll take action, immediately, to get any girl out of here if she wants it," he told her firmly. "I won't see that happen to these young ladies." Seamus nodded at his side, and he flushed, realizing both he and Ernie had come up and overheard part of the conversation.

"Don't worry, Professor, we've been watching the situation," Ernie told him ardently, and Susan motioned them to a smaller room in the back right, past the kitchen, and he followed Seamus and Ernie in.

The room was a strategy space, it appeared, and he was informed by Seamus (who seemed to have an awful lot of bruises) that no one under sixth year could enter. A second Map of the school hung from the wall, this one with notes listed in various handwriting around it, and multiple parchments were tacked onto the walls. Several, he noted, were lists identical to the ones he'd been shown of spellwork they'd practiced, and a heap of boxes marked with the Weasley Wizarding Wheezes logo sat in the corner. Remus took a seat next to Dora, studying the "Moldy-Shorts Sightings" calendar across from them, and the others took their seats.

"Before we start, I want to say I'm impressed. I want to know what else you've been up to, as I'll wager you've got plans besides protecting yourselves, but I want to make some suggestions first.

I think you'd all benefit from some further training in stealth. You've got disillusionment charms, and that'll help, but you older students will need coaching to form an espionage unit. I'll try to bring Kingsley with me next time to work with the advanced students more on Apparition and dueling, but he'll agree with me, I'm sure. I think you're capable of carrying out missions for the Order within Hogwarts- as long as Molly never finds out," Remus added hurriedly, "and we'll start with having you continue to follow Snape, the Carrows, and any older Slytherins, particularly Malfoy and Zabini. The latter has been attending DE meetings, we've been told, and he's probably as dangerous as the Carrows. I'd also like you to form specific units in case the castle is attacked- practice having younger students in teams to evacuate the castle through this portal, and others to defend key parts of the castle until everyone's safe. You'll need transportation to a safe place outside Hogsmeade and to alert McGonagall, Flitwick, and Sprout of your plans. I know it's a scary thought, but it's best to have a set plan. I also think that if you can get in contact with Dumbledore's portrait, it would be very helpful. Now, what is it I can do for you?"

"We were wondering," Ginny began worriedly, "if you'd be able to deliver some letters for us to our families."

"We know it's dangerous, so we've jinxed them to look like those Ministry safety pamphlets if anyone without our own blood reads them," Susan said quietly. "We know blood magic is usually dark magic, but Luna says it's all in the intent of the spell, and there's nothing dark about sending our families news that we're safe," she pleaded hopefully.

Remus looked at the solemn faces. "You realize if we do this, we'll have to let the younger years do it too? They deserve to let their families know they're safe as well, and what they're doing- at least a hint- since they're putting themselves in danger."

"No," Neville said sternly. "We discussed it. Students will be allowed to send one letter a month, since there are so many of us- but they're held by the Fidelius from naming any members, our groups' purpose or plans, or our location to their families. They can tell them it's dangerous here and that will suffice."

Dora tugged at his hands and he held her eyes, which begged him to see it rationally. "I don't like it," he said slowly, "but I can't fault your logic. How many letters do you have right now?"

"Eighty-two," Padma said softly. "One for each of us. Parvati and I shared one. Once you reach a quiet place, all you need to do is release them where you can't be seen. They'll portkey to outside our homes within three minutes and float outside until someone picks them up. We can't get past our parent's wards, in some cases."

"Who did the portus spell?" Remus asked sharply. Michael, Terry, and Anthony raised their hands.

"Well done," he said, noting with a bit of amusement how apprehensive their faces were. Michael relaxed immediately and flashed a happy smile at Ginny, who did not return it.

"I'm impressed to see how much you've all taken on," Remus told them. "You've become adults overnight it seems, and I doubt any of us in the Order could have handled teaching and protecting these students and this school any better. You should be proud of your talents, proud of your bravery and your dedication. I hope that when you leave school, if you've survived and this war is still on, that you'll come and join us. We could certainly use you."

Dora nodded solemnly and pulled the package she'd wrapped for them out of her fuscia coat.

"We took the liberty of collecting a few helpful things for you," she said as she held out the package to a curious, hopeful Ginny. Surprisingly deft, tiny fingers undid the wrapping and a gasp went up around the room as Moody's invisibility cloak slipped out, fluid and silvery, onto the table.

"It'll need to have the charms on it repaired soon, you can tell it's not as fine as Harry's, but you have time to look up the spells and set it to rights," Dora offered. "There's a letter from your Gran, Neville- she's been having covert luncheons at her home to take in Muggle-borns- I've been told even your room is now home to a young girl, who would have been a first year this term. She loves your books."

"There's also a letter from the twins and from your mother for you, Ginny, and Seamus' mother contacted us earlier this week with a package for him," Remus continued, slipping the small, wrapped object over. Seamus ripped it open without restraint and exclaimed happily over the shiny steel blade inside.

"I've wanted one o' these for ages," he said, tilting the sharp edge into the light. "Gaelic runes, druid-made steel- this'll open any door, cut all locks an' ropes, and I can spell it teh recognize me voice and take commands! Think o' Amycus runnin' from this beauty!" he cried to many laughs. Ernie asked to see the knife as Ginny dubiously inspected the rather thick letter from her mother, and Neville's eyes were wide as they zipped down his own letter, Hannah reading over his shoulder. Ginny hid the letter from the twins in her jumper and inspected the last contents of the package.

"Are these what I think they are?" she asked in awe.

"It seems you had much the same idea as we did," Remus grinned, nodding. The two mirrors were placed with great care on the table, and heads bumped together as – mature or nothing- they all crammed in to see them.

"We gave one to Bill, and we have the last one. Neville, you will have one as leader, and Ginny, you will have one to contact the Order in emergencies. I had to keep it a secret from Molly, otherwise she'd be talking to you every night. You're to check in with us weekly to let us know if you need anything that Saturday, and I don't want the younger students knowing you have these. If anyone leaks that you've got an Order connection, Snape'll search for these like his life depends on it. Bill's connects to Ginny, of course, and Neville's connects to ours. Hide them well, but don't leave them in the Room- they should be carried on your person. There's a muting charm you'll have to remove so we aren't talking from your pocket during classes," Remus explained. Ginny's eyes were filled with joy and Remus could see all the students thinking of the possibilities these mirrors and the letters gave them. Contact with the outside world- real news, not garbled versions from a compromised Daily Prophet- could enter the castle now. Potterwatch was excellent, but for personal, family business and emergencies, this was the ticket.

"We'll keep them safe," Ginny promised fervently, and Neville nodded. Hannah whispered something in Neville's ear, and he went red. Michael, Terry, and Anthony had returned from patrols and were discussing the spells used to create the mirrors, wondering if they could replicate it on the girls' compact mirrors from their purses, when Parvati piped up with a question.

"How will they know if you're trying to contact them, since it's muted?"

"Good point, I forgot to tell you that. The mirrors are charmed grow heavy when we're trying to contact you. You'll be able to feel it, but it won't make you fall to the ground or anything," Dora chuckled. "Not that I don't do that enough on my own, anyway."

Grins and laughs went around the room, and Remus stood up to leave. They needed to be able to Apparate out of Hogsmeade before the sun set and the blasted Caterwalling Charm was in place. Parvati and Padma handed him the sack of letters, charmed to be feather-light, and Remus slung it onto his back and said his farewells. He was happier than he'd been in weeks- these kids weren't backing down, they were stepping up to help- and for the first time in ages, he'd been surrounded by excitement and joy that had nothing to do with surviving another battle. His beautiful Dora was smiling and hugging Ginny a last time, and then they were setting out. Remus pulled her close once they were alone in the dark of London, just finished Apparating, and kissed her thoroughly.

"What was that for?" she asked playfully, her eyes twinkling in the sunset.

"That was because I love you, Nymphadora Tonks," he grinned, ignoring her splutter at her given name, "and I am going to take you home now, because there is a very nice bed waiting for us," and with that, he swept her off her feet and carried her up the stairs to their flat.


	16. A Deadly Game

A shorter chapter, but nonetheless important! Please review- I look forward to hearing from you!

-Jenna

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16

Antonin

It was rare that he could fully relax, and though he was surrounded by what were the closest thing he had to friends, this was not one of those times. He'd been called to the Dark Lord's side just this morning and tasked with taking over the last shops in Diagon Alley. This meant not only the Weasley shop, but Twilifitt and Tattings, Eyelops Emporium, and several others. Gringotts, the main attraction, would fall easier once it's prime source of income was in their hands. Merlin knew the Goblins could be nasty, cutthroat little buggers.

He'd brought together the usual crowd tonight for a poker game to get their ideas and start the plot. He was popular enough to assume that the younger recruits, at least, feared or admired him enough to fall in line with his request, and he had summoned Mulciber, Rookwood, and Yaxley from the old crowd. Two of Malfoy's house elves had been sent over to clean and prepare refreshments, though Lucius himself, as Dolohov knew, was house-bound and wandless, something he had taken great pleasure in knowing. Their foiled attempt at taking the prophecy had led to Dolohov's reincarceration in Azkaban, and after being set free the first time, he'd wondered if he would be alive to see a second. The Dark Lord's displeasure at their failure had been most . . . violent. Dolohov shivered just slightly before turning to the robed men who were lounging in his den, watching Rookwood flip knives at a target.

"Shall we commence?" he called, striding in and pulling down a map of Diagon Alley. Few knew it, but Gringotts was not the only building connected underground. Most of the others had cellars linked by tunnels, for safety and storage, and taking out a few key points would lead to taking the three entrances to Gringotts that were below the surface. Once inside, they could split the goblins between two fronts, forcing those below them to fight their way up and those above to fight at both their entrance and their backs. Without wands, he knew they had a chance of overpowering these bloodthirsty creatures.

He took note of who had showed, and who he needed to call upon and threaten or coerce. Apart from the three older recruits, who would be leading the attacks on the underground entrances to Gringotts, he had the young Zabini, still in school but already power-hungry, a whey-faced Nott, who seemed to regret showing and who was eyeing his taciturn father anxiously, Macnair's boy, a new find named Marcus Flint who showed great promise, and Snape, who had brought the two school boys, as requested, to the meeting. Dolohov had not extended an invitation to Lucius' spawn for their gathering. He would not give that egotistical idiot any chance to regain his favor with the Dark Lord. The Lestranges had already offered their services; Bella in particular had claimed an entire wing of Gringotts for herself, as the "Family Vault" needed special protection during the battle. Dolohov had chuckled, but he did not care what jewels she wished to guard so long as the woman used her wand.

The boys were munching languidly on cheese and meats, and Zabini was sipping deeply from his wine. Poker commenced, and Dolohov took in Snape's palor- even more so than usual- and deigned to ask if he was "having trouble" controlling "the school children," to many snickers and gfaws. Snape did not even glare at him, but looked at Nott, strangely, his black eyes beady and intense, before replying that he'd been fighting a low-level rebellion from the brats of those in the Order, who were clearly fulfilling their parent's plans. He had yet to expel anyone, he admitted, but it was the Dark Lord's wish that as many pupils as possible be kept in the school where they could be watched and honed into his followers.

"Like young Mr. Nott, here, right?" Dolohov offered, and Nott went slightly green but nodded, looking at his father. "Tell me, son, what have you done so far to earn your Mark? Have you killed yet?"

The young man shook his head, and then expanded, "I haven't had the chance. I've put a few Mudbloods in their place, but mostly Malfoy takes care of that petty stuff. I've been busy with schoolwork, you see," he offered. Dolohov's grin stretched as Nott's father set him with a disappointed look.

"Yes, well, it's all well and good to better your skills- I'm sure Severus has been quite useful to our Master with his excellence in potions- but it is helpful also to break in the young ones, get them used to blood and screams. Once you can kill, you can truly serve the Dark Lord."

Zabini nodded in agreement and began listing off his most recent victims. Dolohov was impressed, no doubt; he'd clearly been doing some house cleaning of dirty-blooded fools both within his own house and outside of it, though his only kill had been over the summer before.

"Have the Carrows been of assistance?" he inquired of Zabini. The boy admitted that they had yet to approach him personally, and had not offered to direct his skills. "They have given me opportunities to test my talents, however," he laughed. "I just want to get my hands on some of the blood-traitor girls who run around like they own the place- I'd love to get that Weasley girl on her own and bend her over and hear her scream," he said. The men joked about past encounters with half-blood women, and Dolohov recounted the first time he'd taken a girl before killing her, in the first war. "The feel of that blood- and those cries!- The best is to slit the throat, right as you spill into them. It's addictive when you're young and randy," he chuckled. "Witches might think they're immortal, but we can do so much worse to them than killing," he opined, to general agreement. Younger Nott was tapping his foot and seemed to be ignoring the room, focusing on his cards, and Dolohov played a good bluff, pulling Macnair and Rookwood out of the game.

Within the hour he'd won, and called as his winnings the favor of their "assistance" in a truly epic plot that he assured could put the Dark Lord in their debt. The younger men were antsy, overexcited, but the old crowd merely asked for the target and frowned and hemmed and hawed over his blueprints, marking down good points to secure fighters and circling weak spots in the construction of the tunnels. Dolohov watched as Nott the elder leaned over the plan, and nodded his head, confirming that both he and his son would be there.

"We'll get this one his Mark from this," Nott declared gruffly, beckoning to his boy. "Before we take Gringotts, you'll make your first kill: I want you to take out those Weasley boys. They've been defying the Dark Lord for months with that ridiculous radio show. It's time we sent a message to those bloodtraitors- _stay against the Dark Lord, and all their children will be slaughtered_. We'll hit their place first."

Antonin clapped him on the back and called for more wine. His plan was clearly set in motion.


	17. Curious George Goes to Diagon Alley

Thanks so much for the reviews! Keep 'em comin'- I'll write much faster with some feedback! I had some writer's block- but it seems to have moved on now and hopefully I am back to my ridiculous chapter-a-day schedule. This chapter is a bit dark, but I promise- I stick to canon- George does not die!!!

Cheers

Jenna

17

George

Sunlight was glinting through the trees as he passed below them. It was bright, early morning sun, the kind that made one squint but smile at the same time. The air felt crisp and cool this last week before the snows would fall. Frost shimmered on the ground, crunchy but slowly melting, and dead leaves were browning in piles near the shopkeepers' entrances in the backs of buildings. His own had a pile of leaves and a new rake beside it, and a few buckets that Fred occasionally used to mop up the back storeroom after accidents where scourgify wouldn't work. Though he'd never admit it and no one had guessed but his twin, George was undoubtedly a morning person. He whistled as he put the key in the door, pulling out his wand to undo the wards. They'd thought about apparating directly into the shop on mornings, but it seemed too easy for others to find a way to apparate in during the night and lie in wait for them if they left this loophole open. If he was honest, George had been exceptionally pleased when his father had suggested a set of locks and wards instead. He loved these clear, cold mornings where nothing else stirred besides the air around him.

Walking inside the shop, he picked up a display of hangmen that had toppled over and straightened Verity's clumsy restocking on the back wall. He'd have to speak with her about putting effort into making the supplies behind the counter as eye-appealing as those out in the open- after all, these were the expensive ones. It wasn't prudent to leave them where customers could snatch one. The line of shield hats, cloaks, and gloves were stacked in their deep blue boxes, and George was proud of the jinx they'd added discreetly- none with a Dark Mark could use them. If they put a cloak or hat on, their location would show up on the map he and Fred had made. They'd also added a genital shrinking charm, though George knew it wasn't as helpful as the tracking spell.

Turning on the charmed coffee pot (Fred was never a morning person, and needed at least two cups to get moving once he got in) George set the wireless they'd spelled to play throughout the store and then sat in the back, putting his feet up on the counter and lounging back in his chair. It was a beautiful morning, one of those special ones where he could even forget the war was on. There were no birds twittering, no happy couples sitting out for breakfast in the café at the corner, but the emptiness didn't bother him. After growing up with his own boisterous twin and five more siblings, George relished his time alone.

But there was also something wonderful, he knew, about being able to share this early morning with others, and knowing he should get some breakfast in him before customers started coming in, he went out the front door, not bothering to flip the sign to "OPEN ME, DOLT!" as he'd still be out. He walked the two blocks down to the café where Katie worked. She wouldn't date him still, but George was hoping that between the Weasley charm and a month's worth of excellent tips, she might come around. A wide marble archway opened for him, a witch at the front checked his jacket and passed a security probe over him, though she'd seen him now for three weeks straight every morning. "Just got to be sure, Sir," she assured cheerily, and he was directed to a table. He ordered coffee from the hostess and requested Katie, if she were available, and after two minutes of gazing at the grand mural on the wall, one of his favorites, Katie emerged. She was wearing her usual pressed uniform: the sleek brown skirt, creamy apron, and a sky blue jumper that complemented her curves nicely. Katie saw him and her face became a mixture of annoyance and mirth, and she bustled over and picked up his menu.

"So the usual then, Georgie-pie?" she simpered, trying not to laugh.

"I'm Fred, woman, can't you tell us apart by now? Five years of school together and you don't know who I am?"

"So now Fred's lost an ear too?" Katie's eyes twinkled.

"Well, you can't fault me from trying. He gets all the birds anyways. Don't know why, I'm loads more fanciable than he is."

Katie giggled softly and went back to get his eggs and toast. He liked apple butter, as she knew by now, and brought it out to him with milk to go with his coffee. "Don't you dare leave a galleon like you did last time, my boss thought you were mad!" she whispered as he stuffed his napkin in her apron pocket. "George!" she admonished, turning away to seat three new patrons, and George grinned. She was in a good mood today- she'd been laughing with him. He'd left his floo address for her- for the twentieth time- on his napkin, along with a little poem he was adding, bit by bit, to each of the napkins he stuffed in her apron. This time the verse read,

"Soft gentle words I want to whisper

To bring your eyes to shine

My lady I do offer you

All I have for thine,"

Sure it was hokey, but he wanted her to laugh at the idea of him trying to be a romantic. He'd already conjured her flowers last week but for some reason, everything he did she took as a joke. He'd never considered it before, but it seemed that the backlash of being the class clown – or half of the class clown, at least- was that anything he did was judged before it could be taken seriously- if at all. He'd added a galleon to the folds of the napkin, and signed his name with a flourish of ink. It was their ritual. Until the war was over, it seemed, this was all she would allow. He could wait, he knew.

Rising from the table he slurped the last of his milk up and walked out. As soon as he drew near the shop, however, he knew something was wrong- the sign was flipped, but Fred shouldn't be in for an hour. Drawing his wand and quickly disillusioning himself in the dim of early morning shadows, George walked to the back. He almost tripped over a branch in his concentration, and he cast a silencio at each foot, hoping to quiet his scuffling tracks.

When he came to the back door, it was open, as though an invisible hand were holding it steady against the light wind pushing it closed. George walked back to the side of the building and whispered "Homenum Revelio!" under his breath. Two red blurs were in the attic- God he was glad they slept at Muriel's now!- and six more were in the bottom. Strangest of all, there was a faint blur of red in the cellar- could it be burglars? If it were, they'd quickly find they kept no money nor many supplies down below. George felt a shiver run through him as one of the red blurs glowed brighter- they were casting spells. These were no cheap burglars.

What should he do? What would Fred do? Fred would have probably argued that they should go in with their wands up, ready to defend what was theirs from whoever was trying to capture them. George, however, was shaking from fear, and though he could defend himself if needs be, why should he run into danger? He made up his mind when he saw a figure that cut a cold dread into him come out of the back door, lifting her disillusionment charm to welcome another. The silver death eater mask of the first obscured his features, but Bellatrix's face was uncovered, gleeful, frenzied- like a lioness in heat, she prowled the outside door, waiting for whatever others may come.

George backtracked until he was away from the shop and sent a quick customer repelling charm at the front door. He'd rather not have their first customers of the day becoming the first victims. Fred had invented the spell so that he could bring Angelina down into the storeroom and shag her on the counter, something George had found funny, so long as they scourgified the thing afterwards. Verity hadn't been quite as pleased.

When he was directly behind Fortesque's abandoned shop, he sent a patronus to Verity, telling her to stay away from work and that he'd forward her last pay to her at the end of the week. She'd be pissed at them, but if the shop had been compromised, there was no way they could do business from it. A second patronus went to his father, explaining the situation and asking him to keep Fred locked up at Muriel's for now- his father would certainly understand why. His last silvery Labrador shot off to Bill, who was his only hope at this point.

With an almost immediate pop! Bill was standing beside him, looking around in the air, and George reached out before he remembered he was disillusioned. Bill had him in a headlock within seconds, and after a silent bit of wrestling, Bill lifted the disillusion and then let him go.

"What did Mum make you do when you turned Ron's teddy into a spider?" Bill panted.

"She made us clean the outhouse by hand and add a floor for the brooms," George replied with distaste, and Bill flicked his wand, disillusioning them both.

"What have you got in mind?" he asked George quietly, watching the front of the shop for any movement inside.

"Can we keep them in there? I'd love to see Bellatrix survive off the skiving snackboxes and the wart fudge for a few weeks," George growled.

"Bellatrix is in there? Thank Merlin Dad's got Fred tied down," Bill breathed. "If he doesn't stop playing the hero, he's going to get killed. Not that I mind him pulling Angelina's family out last week, but honestly- he goes into these things without thinking."

"I just don't get why they're all in the basement," George puzzled, recasting the homenum revelio to show his brother. "We don't keep much down there, and if they wanted to capture us, it's a fool's strategy- all we'd have to do is set a single curse and we'd trap them all."

Bill swore under his breath. "You've got to be kidding me," he whispered.

"What?" George asked, hearing the worried tone.

"They're not just going after you two. They're taking out Gringotts," Bill said, shuddering beside him. "Or they're going to try to," he added, and George could hear the wry grin in his voice.

"How in Holy Merlin do you figure that?" George whispered back quickly. The red blur were moving in the basement, and three of them suddenly disappeared. Hmm. Wasn't it impossible to Disapparate underground?

"All the stores on Diagon Alley used to be connected underground. Tunnels. You've probably seen your entrance- looks like a stone archway that's filled in?"

"Well, sure," George replied. "We wanted to get it reopened for safety as a backup getaway, but none of the other shopkeepers were too chuffed at the idea of letting us have access to their underground stores,"

"Gringotts used to be connected too, but then the goblins got suspicious when too many of the shopkeepers had break-ins during the last war. They sealed it up, but it wouldn't be too difficult to blow the tunnels clean and vanish the stone, bit by bit. You'd just need-"

"A helluva lot of power," George finished, and the severity of the situation sunk in.

"We've gotta move! We need to let the goblins know! We can't let the Death Eaters get all that gold!" he cried, shaking his brother.

"Easy, George," Bill ordered, pulling him back behind Fortesque's. "If I know Urgwasp well enough, he'll have set each of the tunnels with a caverning-jinx and a set of curses. Goblins are still alive today for a reason," Bill soothed. "They might reach the Gringott's tunnel before they're buried in dirt, but even if they do, the goblins have a dragon at each of the three entrances, and beyond that- a bunch of nasty curses. They're neigh undetectable. Gringotts can get broken into from above, but the goblins are too vicious to let anyone in their back door," he assured.

George let out a long breath and tried to calm himself, rubbing his head with his hands.

"So what should we do, oh-maginificent-head-boy-curse-breaker?" He muttered, getting frustrated with their lack of action.

"Well, for starters, your 'trap and capture' method might not be a bad plan," Bill admitted. "I'll handle that, I know some good curses by now. You need to let Twilfitt and Tattings, that café place, and whatever other shops you can know discreetly what's going on- something tells me this isn't just Gringotts, but the rest of the shops, too," Bill suggested.

"So, meet back at Muriel's in an hour? What if I see Death Eaters in those shops?"

"Just get anyone out that you can. Have them set wards on their shops and on the tunnels- they can go closed for a week or so, or find better protection for their businesses," Bill offered, and after a brief hug, the two men parted ways.

George hurried behind the alleyway to Twilfitt and Tattings. It was a fancy place, one his Mum had never shopped in, proclaiming it "much too expensive for anyone with taste!" He reckoned they didn't know-or care- who he was, since he was younger than fifty, but he'd have to try. Twenty minutes of arguing later, mostly while he was held at wandpoint, George had run just before part of the floor collapsed and the owner, a pruney, harping woman with long nails, shrieked as she slid to the cellar. He flung the door open, not caring that she'd just kicked him out for "trying to scare her off," and summoned the woman's falling figure from the ground. Two hexes flew over his head as he bent down, pulling her out the door, and she sobbed into his shoulder until he shook her and told her to go home and hide. Angry voices called after him, but for George, the situation has just become real- the Death Eaters were taking over Diagon Alley.

Suddenly, his mind flipped as he glanced at the café up the street. _Katie. Shit. _

Sweat and dust clung to his forehead as he raced in. He was not the first, however, and he had to control the scream that threatened to erupt from his mouth as Katie and three other women huddled in the corner, terrified, surrounded by four robed men. One of them was sneering at the girls, telling them to hand over the key to the cellar, and a fury George had never felt surged through his chest. He flung his wand forward and dropped the last man towards the door with a blinding stunner, and had petrified another silently before the other two whirled around, firing hexes around the room. The mirrors covering the walls shattered, and the girls screamed, fighting the spell that chained them to the spot. George picked up the stunned wizard's wand and tossed it, screaming for Katie to catch it, and he ripped a series of stunners and cutting hexes at the two furious enemies.

His shoulder burned suddenly, and he yelped, sending a burning hex back at the new death eater who'd entered from behind him. He could hear Katie yelling curses from behind him, and a thud told him she'd dropped one of the two when he could still hear her voice. George jumped under a table, firing two more curses, and had to slide out when the Death Eater aimed a strong "REDUCTO!" at the table. Shards of wood hit his arms and peppered him with thick, sharp splinters. George flung the tablecloth in the air and charmed it into covering the man, but he vanished it. Reaching into his pockets, he flung the last of his purple stun-pills and then threw a decoy detonator out the window. Orange jets of light hit his arm, and he cried out as they cut deep, severing muscle from bone. He switched hands with his wand, and Katie was screaming in pain behind him- _Merlin, please let her be ok!-_ and in a fit of terror, he heard the dropping of a body and turned, against his will.

Katie was crumpled on the floor, coughing blood. Her shirt was torn and singed, and behind her, another waitress was screaming and crying as a wizard stood over her, fire pouring from his wand onto her stomach. George's shield spell faltered as his opponent behind him threw curses at it, and the silvery glow shone over his face. _They couldn't die- he wouldn't let it happen_-

George snapped back to his own fight, hitting the wizard with everything he had. He ducked and lunged, sending hex after curse with his right hand dangling uselessly by his side, but his aim was off, and he could feel his body tiring. His left arm snapped with a wrenching, sickening pain, and a second blue spell hit his leg. White bone burst through his skin, ugly and bloody, and the air on his flesh was like a red-hot poker. The wizard kicked his broken hand, and George yowled as pain made his eyes twist back into his skull. He leaned over and threw up, his toast scraping his throat, and the wizard laughed.

The room was silent. The other Death Eater came to his side, kicking his ribs, and sent a cutting hex at his neck. Blood trickled down; he hadn't moved fast enough. His head slumped by his vomit; he was going to die, now- there was nothing he could do, no wand, no way to save Katie- he'd never see Fred again- and then with a rush, he saw a lone wand under the table. The wizard in front of him flicked his wand just as three things happened at once:

Katie hurled herself onto the back of the Death Eater, biting his neck and throwing off his aim as he stumbled into the wall, George scrambled under the table and snatched the wand with his aching, broken hand, and out of nowhere, the window shattered, and Bill came crashing in, his face fearsome with the scars stretched under angry eyes, throwing lightening fast curses at the two men. Katie went flying over the table, hitting the top and sliding off, and did not move again. George swooped out from under and threw stunners at the men, but he was injured and Bill seemed to be too, blood coming down his side from a deep cut through his chest. Bill yelled as a curse hit his head, and boils blistered up, covering his face. The Death Eater facing George threw Crucio's at him, and George jumped painfully, feeling his leg shoot pain with each step.

"You're mine, now," he growled, his last curse hitting George. He had thought the pain could not grow any worse, but as the Crucio hit him, his vision went white, and pain filled him from his fingers to his toes, scraping sickeningly through his body. George screamed. The wizard laughed, a deep, rough laugh of enjoyment, his breathing returning to normal as the fight died down. He lifted his wand, and George panted, hearing Bill scream frantic curses at his opponent, who was laughing and toying with him. "Say your goodbyes," the man above him chortled, and George stared at him in fury. _Oh no, this is not how I'll be going out_, he thought, and he kicked the wizard's legs with all he had. Pain rushed through him as his leg connected with the wizard's but it did not overwhelm him. He still had his wand.

"AVADA KEDAVRA!" he screamed, feeling horror as the words slipped from his mouth, and the other battle stopped as his opponent fell to the ground, motionless. Bill, bloodied and blistered, fired a stunner at his shocked Death Eater, who topped over as well.

George lay on the ground, his eyes fixed to the man he'd just killed. A tight pain filled his chest until he realized he wasn't breathing. Bill hurried to him and cool relief filled his leg as the bones and skin mended.

"Hold out your arm a bit," Bill offered gruffly, and George complied, his mind separate from his body. He'd killed. He felt his arms being put to rights, and the cut on his neck sealing shut, and then Bill was gone, checking on Katie, and a burning smell reached his nose. Standing, he walked to the back, and then immediately threw up again- the woman who had been burned was dead, her clothes smoldering, and her flesh was cooked over her stomach, blackened and charred. She looked more like a butchered beast, with a rough hide, than a witch. He wiped his mouth on a tablecloth and stumbled back to Bill.

Katie was awake, and Bill was talking to her soothingly, quickly, explaining what he was doing as his wand traced over cuts and healed her wrist. George sat down beside them, trying not to stare at the body that was calling to him from the other side of the table.

"We'll need you to come to Muriel's," Bill was saying, and Katie nodded, summoning some of her things from her flat above the restaurant. A coat, a book, a rucksack, and a hairbrush floated down, and George caught them for her, feeling he should be doing something. _He'd murdered a man. Murdered._

"You can stay next to Fred and George- they have the upstairs, it'll be more private," Bill was saying, and Katie reached out a hand for George. George shook his head. "I can't apparate, Bill- you'll have to side along us both," he admitted shamefully, and Bill shrugged and put his hands on their shoulders.

With a whoosh he landed in the yard outside Muriel's, and the sheep scattered as they trucked up the hill to the house. Muriel's caretaker came out to stare at them, his gloves and a set of pruning shears in hand, and George averted his eyes. _Murderer_.

_But what else could I have done? _His voice argued in his head. _He was going to kill me. It's self defense. But you could have stunned him, _another voice whispered justly. _Bill did it. You didn't have to kill. _

A yell hit their ears and his mother plunged down the hill, throwing herself at them as his father could be seen following her. Fleur raced down on swift feet to help Bill up the hill and George watched his mother levitate a bashful, confused Katie, who was arguing that George was hurt much worse than she. His father hugged him, and George felt tears well up in his eyes as his twin came out to the door, incensed but relieved.

Fred pulled him inside, berating him for "locking me out of the action, you lucky bastard," and his mother scolded them both, even though George had been silent. George went upstairs to the bathroom, avoiding his father's and Bill's eyes, which followed his movements.

He hung his head in the bathroom, holding himself up over the sink. Stripping down, he turned on the water, hotter than usual, and pulled his aching body into the steamy stream. The water tinged pink as he washed his cuts, letting all his feelings swirl within, trying to avoid the voices that were insistently telling him he'd murdered, that he was a killer, that he was no better than a Death Eater, no better than _Voldemort_. Tears would not come. He felt hollow, leaden, as he turned to let the hot water beat down on his back, and he looked at the freckles on his hand, the hand that had held his wand when he'd said those terrible words.

He'd killed a man. He, George Weasley, had killed- for the defense of himself, Katie, and his brother, sure, but he could have done differently. He might have stunned or petrified him. It wasn't something George could fix or take back. He'd killed, and he would have to deal with it, remember it, fear it- for the rest of his life.

A knock on the door roused him from his self-flagellation, and George turned off the water, drying himself with a flick of his wand. He shoved pants on and opened the door, shaking water out of his hair.

"Hey," Fred said solemnly, watching him. Silence-something that had never happened between the two twins- filled the room. _Fred had never killed someone_, George though bitterly. He had finally done what he'd been trying to do his whole life: he'd accomplished something before Fred.

"Bill told me what happened," Fred said quietly, reaching out to hug him, and George cracked as his twin's arms wrapped around him firmly.

"It's ok, you'll be ok," Fred whispered as he cried, long, jagged sobs of shame ripping through him. "You did it because you had to, and you saved Bill and Katie- you saved yourself. You didn't do anything wrong, even Dad says so," he wheedled, and George felt fresh tears run hot down his cheeks at the thought of his father knowing he was responsible for a man's death. His son was a murderer.

"I'm sorry you _had_ to do it, but I'm not sorry you did it," Fred whispered softly, and George felt his heart lift, comforted by the warm arms rubbing his back. It felt like he was a child, and Mum had spanked him, and Dad was patting his back as he sat in his room for punishment. Only this time, Fred wasn't beside him hiding his tears defiantly. He was trying to help George stop hating himself.

"Think of it this way," Fred said gravely, and George lifted his head, seeing his father standing behind them with watery, grateful eyes. "You saved Mum from having to murder you if you got yourself killed," he intoned solemnly, and George let out a chocked laugh.

"C'mon, Mum wants to feed you," Fred called as he went down the steps, and his father looked at him. "He's right, you know. You did what you had to do. I did it once to protect Molly, and I'd do it again to anyone who threatened my family," his father said softly.

George swallowed hard and walked down the steps. Katie was downstairs, and his Mum's London broil, and perhaps some pudding . . . and he had a shop laboratory to set up in whatever space Muriel _didn't_ want them to use.


	18. Meditating on Victory

As promised, the next chapter- this is more lighthearted than the last, but still carries some important clues to what is to come over Christmas . . . see if you can spot them!

18

Padma

Examining her reflection in the mirror, the Head Girl shrunk her blouse further, trying to get the waist to fit without having her belly show. She was terribly thin, not that she hadn't always been a bit gangly- but usually, it wasn't as noticeable as it was now. Ernie had even asked her if she was getting enough to eat last time he'd followed her and a frustrated Malfoy on rounds. Dolling herself up with a touch of gold eye shadow and some cherry gloss, she pulled back from the mirror to see the full effect. Her eyes, her favorite feature, could almost distract one from her thin cheeks. She blinked carefully, adding a coat of mascara to her lashes. Slick and black, she curled them. Now her eyes looked huge. Oh well. It would have to do.

Her bookbag slung over a shoulder and filled to bursting, she set out for the library intending to finish the eighteen inches on complex antidotes that Slughorn wanted by Tuesday. She had vanishing spells to practice, a bit of charm work on their group project for "creating a complex repelling charm," and a thick book to read for Arithmany by next Friday. But for now, it was Saturday, and some of it could wait for tomorrow or the next week. She craved some solitude, the feel of parchment under her fingertips and the whisper of pages being turned. The leather chairs in the library were calling to her.

Heading down the hall, she checked her pocket. Her DA galleon was in a front pocket on her jeans and her Elf-Pin was stuck through her bookbag fabric for easy access. As a jailbreak captain, she needed to keep it within sight even while she was going to sleep. Padma climbed the stairs up to the library and slunk into her favorite spot by the window, looking to see who else was up at this hour on a Saturday. Most students were probably still asleep, if they weren't yawning through breakfast. Only two other students were in the library- both fifth years she knew from the DA- and she waved discreetly to them both and turned to unload her books.

Twenty minutes and two reference searches later, she was a paragraph in to her potions essay, and her quill tip was still fresh and sharp. Her tiny handwriting filled an inch outlining her major points and argument, and she was beginning to list on a separate piece of parchment examples to back up her claims. Just as she was perusing a thick volume called "Antidotes for the Absent-Minded," which was barely less complicated than its fellows, she saw Terry and Tony both settled down at her table, smiling hellos.

"How early were you up?" Terry asked, sliding a thermos of tea her way. A smile broke over her face- _So thoughtful_- as Tony cleared his throat. Padma hid the thermos under the table as Madam Pince passed by, and they were all silent until she was gone. Terry cast a repelling charm around their table and Padma opened her bookbag to hand him her notes on the Runes class he'd missed while in detention.

"Early for you, maybe, but not for me- about an hour," she replied, and Tony grinned.

"Don't tell me you skipped breakfast again," he groaned jokingly, pulling a white napkin stuffed with croissants from his bag. Padma thanked them both and tore off a section of buttery croissant, closing her eyes as the flavor hit her tongue.

"So what are you studying til the meeting?" She asked, and Terry admitted his Runes and Potions essay were his first priorities. Tony, as always, had left his Care of Magical Creatures work to the last minute. He hated drawing the diagrams.

"Not like I'll ever use it, anyway," he grumbled for the thirtieth time this year. "I just want the NEWT coz' it'll look better to have it."

"Yes, that always made perfect sense to me, since you hate it," Padma shot at him with her eyes scanning her essay. She'd need to correct that amount of rat spleen in the third line, but other than that, it was passable. "Here, swap me, we can edit each other's potions," Tony offered, and Padma chuckled. Anything to get him away from the dreaded Care of Magical Creatures.

Swapping with Tony, she watched Terry lick the end of his quill and then scribble his next line, his eyes focused intently as his swift script filled the page. Brown, curly hair hung low over his eyes, and his glasses were only barely visible below his bangs. Tony, short-haired but with his new shadow of a beard settling in, was scratching his chin as he read her essay, and Padma sighed. It felt like it had been when they were younger- the three of them would settle down in a remote, quieter corner of the library for an afternoon, and Hermione or Justin would join them perhaps, intent on editing one another's work and debating the finer points of magical theory. Now, their group had shrunk to just these three, but Padma was glad that at least her boys were there to keep her from going mad. Michael was conspicuously absent, but Padma knew he was nursing a tough set of bruises and might have fancied a longer kip than usual. She wouldn't embarrass the boys with nosy questions.

Banishing her potions book to her desk with a flick, Padma sighed, bit into her second croissant, and gulped down half her thermos of tea in a quick minute. The steam rose up to warm her skin, humid and fragrant, and Terry leaned forward to sniff it appreciatively.

"Chai- how did you know my favorite?" she asked, startled.

Terry shrugged. "It was Indian, my Mum told me," was all he offered. Padma's eyebrows went up, but Terry's head stayed down, though she felt rather than seeing his eyes fixed on a spot on his parchment, unmoving.

"It's wonderful," she complimented warmly, stowing the thermos at her feet. Her Arithmancy reading was next, and she paged through the chapter to get a feel for the material before reading. It seemed insane that normal things, like homework and crushes and tests, could still be happening when the school was invaded by dark wizards and her students were at war. Somehow she'd never factored in the toll her "extracurricular activity" would take on her studies. She was barely keeping up between juggling her patrols and Head duties with the DA, and it wasn't even Christmas yet, let alone Easter.

Tony's voice shook her from her worries an hour later. "D'you think Hagrid will test us on unicorn-handling? They just won't come near me, now I've got facial hair," he mused, and Terry pushed him off his seat a bit as Padma tutted at them. "So Mike's not coming?" she ventured, hoping it would stop them from fussing about who had a better moustache (even though they both shaved them!).

"He's waiting for Ginny, I believe," Tony said stonily, and Terry nodded. "He's making an idiot of himself, but we've both told him and he won't listen. Demelza's crazy about him but he doesn't want to have anything to do with her; no, he had to go after the Chosen One's Chosen One," Tony scoffed. "Doesn't even care that Ginny doesn't want him near her, he's waiting outside Snape's office for her to leave detention."

Terry made a noise of disgust and Padma interjected. "It's not like he can control who he cares for," she argued, but Terry looked her in the eyes and reminded, "Yeah, but he's making her uncomfortable- and everyone else can tell she's Harry's. _She shouldn't have to deal with Mike_."

Padma pulled her eyes back to her book, and two hours passed in silence, broken only by the rustling of pages as they checked facts or looked for references or the furtive slurps from the thermos. He'd even sweetened it with honey and added some milk, Padma reflected. When her eyes began to tire, she set down the complicated Arithmancy tome, marking it with her pressed coral bookmark, and examined the binding that was wearing on her charms book. Tony glanced up and saw her, and flicked his wand lazily, watching the torn binding weave back into a better form.

"We'd better head back to Ravenclaw soon, we'll need to get in the Room soon," Tony whispered, and they packed up their bags. It was the first weekend in December, cold and brittle, and though no snow covered the Hogwarts grounds, there was still much excitement even on a Saturday morning. At one, Kingsley would be here, along with Remus and Tonks, and the seventh and sixth years were going to begin training for an espionage unit of their own. Terry and Tony had been dueling avidly all week, and Padma had practiced with them, sometimes getting Vatti to join them if her sister wasn't with Lavender. Vatti had gotten much better in the last year, and though Padma was still more creative, her sister had quicker reflexes and could dart out of the way of curses like she was doing speed yoga.

They'd begun showing some of the others how to tumble- a skill their mother was known for- as well as a few good yoga poses for relaxation. Luna had liked the idea so much she'd suggested having the two twins teach the DA some basic meditation and yoga as a class, and Vatti had readily agreed, happy for the opportunity to impress Tony. Padma had been a bit more reluctant- some of the poses were rather suggestive, and she didn't like being the center of attention. But as the three of them paced back to Ravenclaw to join the others in the Room, Padma reminded herself that she had to set a good example. She was Head Girl, after all- and if she knew of something that could assist the others, she needed to share it.

The girl's toilet was crowded for a Saturday morning, and almost every student above third was inside, some wrapped in towels after showers and others chattering as they dried or styled their hair. Saturday dueling matches had become the entertainment replacement for Quidditch, and were highly popular social events as much as they were serious training days. Their physical training schedules allowed two days off, and one was Saturday- so the girls could wear skirts or nicer shoes without worrying. With a quick glance at her face to ensure it was still clean, Padma entered the last cubicle and closed the door, her bookbag much lighter. Her DA notebook, as she was now an informal secretary alongside Abbey, was stuffed inside, charmed to resemble her Arithmancy notes. She had to keep checking them to make sure she didn't mix up the two and bring the wrong set to class.

Sitting on the lid of the toilet, she closed her eyes and said the password quietly, and opened the stall door. The Room spread out before her eyes, already busy with four elves decorating it for Christmas, and imaginary snow was falling and collecting in heaps around the dormitory stairs. Vatti saw her and squealed, drawing her over to where she was talking with Terry, Tony, and a irritated looking Michael.

"How was your date last night?" Vatti all but yelled, and Padma averted her eyes and shushed her.

"I told you not to talk about that, and it wasn't a date, anyway," she whispered, watching as Terry and Tony eyed her curiously and Terry shifted his feet.

"Oh, fine, but I'm telling you, he's going to ask you to Hogsmeade next week," Vatti insisted from beside her. Terry looked away when Padma tried to meet his eyes, to tell him somehow, even if words were awkward, that Vatti was gossiping as always.

"How's Ginny?" she asked the crowd, hoping to draw away the conversation, and Mike answered immediately, his eyebrows furrowing into a look of concern.

"She's got a bunch of cuts- started healing them on the way back, I walked her over- but she's right pissed off," Mike warned. "I couldn't tell if there was anything more serious- none of them were deep, but I think it was more emotional, whatever he's doing to her, than physical."

Terry's eyes darkened. "You don't think . . ." he began warily, but Padma cut him off.

"Ginny would tell someone, and anyway, Snape wouldn't get away alive, even if he did look at her like that. He's not like Amycus," she persuaded softly, and Tony nodded in agreement.

"Yeah, I don't think Snape would last long," Vatti chortled, trying to lighten the conversation. Mike looked concerned still but the talk turned to the latest dueling scores and bets, and what Kingsley might be showing them today. The Room gradually filled with more students, most of them in trousers and t-shirts or jumpers, and Padma sloughed off her red jumper as the body heat from the duelers warmed the Room. Her pink t-shirt was a steal off of Vatti last year, and she hadn't wanted to call attention to it, but it was strip or soak, and she wanted to be able to move later on during the dueling.

A trio of fighters exited the Room, complaining loudly, and three more entered for their turn. A group of third and fourth years were watching Hannah demonstrate the healing of cuts in the center of the couches, and Neville was grinning from the couch as he played her patient. Padma beamed at him and waved over, and he and Hannah returned it. They made such an adorable couple, she sighed internally, before shifting back to her own group to see Ginny join them.

"Feeling alright, Oh Fearless One?" Terry joked, and Ginny laughed with him and showed him a freshly healed cut down her arm.

"Nothing that Dittany can't fix," she agreed, but dark circles lay under her eyes, and Padma thought that perhaps thinness was a disease going around the girls. Ginny looked skinnier than she had during Quidditch training, and so did Susan and Lavender, now that she looked at them. Vatti still had her dimpled cheeks, but her arms were thinner than they had been in fall, and Padma studied her sister. Her hair was a bit lank, but at least she seemed to be eating and sleeping better than her friends.

Pulled out of her thoughts by Ginny's loud cry, she looked up, watching the redhead race to the "Back Door", as they'd all taken to calling it, which had opened and was now letting a tall, poised black man and Remus and Tonks enter. Tonks was bigger than before, if it were possible, and Padma smiled and rushed over with a few other girls to pat her belly and coo at the baby.

"Now, now, we don't want the little hippogriff getting spoiled," Remus joked when ten minutes had passed. Neville was updating Kingsley, as Padma assumed the third man to be, on what they'd covered this week and the details of Seamus' foray into Snape's office. Kingsley's deep, comforting voice was soothing to her ears. He passed a package to Neville, who carried it back to the office and sealed it shut behind him. Terry tugged her over to help move the couches to the sides of the Room so that they'd have ample space to duel or practice with Kingsley, and Remus and Tonks were calling for the third and fourth years to come to the front.

"We'd like to test an evacuation plan, and we'd like the third and fourth years to rehearse their part today," Remus announced.

Silence fell as the younger crowd listened to his instructions, pairing off into groups of five, and they entered the training room as Neville set it to match the third and second floors of Hogwarts.

"You've got to remember to watch one another's backs and communicate- but don't let your enemies hear you! We'll see what you come up with to facilitate that between groups- you've got two hours to hold your positions or take out the dummies," Tonks said cheerfully, and Remus went inside the Training Room to instruct and supervise. Padma gathered around the others who were grouped by Kingsley, Neville and Ginny, who were talking in low voices.

Kingsley divided them into pairs to try the Durmstrang shield, and Vatti beamed at her before they threw up their shield proudly. Padma loved this- she could feel Vatti's love circling her with the silvery shield, her magic pulsing through it. It was a wonderful, calming feeling, and she focused on the happy memory of sitting with Vatti at their eighth birthday party, when Daddy got them matching brooms. They'd played gobstones until two in the morning when MaaTaa had discovered them hiding under their quilt, one of Padma's glowing lights conjured to show them the pieces. It was her childhood specialty- a form of wandless magic where she captured light from the lamp outside their window and held it until it was strong in her hands. Then she could make it brighten, move about their bedroom, even blink if she wanted. She'd been working on changing the color when they'd both gone to Hogwarts and the light had faded to a distant memory, something she tried to do each summer holiday to less and less of a result. This summer, though, she'd gotten a single ball of light from the living room that had been just as good as the ones she'd made in her childhood, and it had been exciting to see it glow in her bedroom, blinking when she snapped her fingers.

After Kingsley had thrown some curses at their shield to show the students that the magic could be absorbed of rebounded, depending on the strength and type of the curse, he sectioned them off into three groups and set them each to planning how they would get into the headmaster's office, should they need to. A trio of blackboards appeared with chalk, and Padma drew in close with Tony, Demelza, Yulang and five others to brainstorm.

"What are Snape's weaknesses?" Luna asked, tapping her head with her wand, sending purple sparks into her blonde hair. Tony started and then put the embers out with his wand, and Luna gave him an exasperated, patronizing look before she repeated her question backwards. Tony shrugged.

"He thinks he's invincible," Demelza offered.

"He protects his privacy very carefully, maybe too carefully," Yulang puzzled.

Padma shook her head. "I think we need to look first at our options for entering the room, not how we'll fool him," she said.

"Well, there are only two," Yulang pointed, "the window and the door," and the others nodded.

"If we choose the window, we could levitate someone in, find a way for them to climb the wall, or have them fly up," He continued. Padma looked at the Map, tapping her chin.

"The door can't be stopped as it's revolving, can it?" she asked aloud. None of the others answered her, but then Tony walked to bookshelves and pulled a charms text off, scuffling through the pages.

"What if we arrested the movement of the stairs after they started to move, and trapped him in the stairwell? We could get someone in and block the door at both ends, and then we'd be free to let our agent already inside search the office at their will," he explained, looking for a charm to freeze the stairs without a simple countercurse.

"But the assignment is just to break in- we'd already be in there before we sealed the door," Padma argued, looking over the floor plans around the Headmaster's suite. The door and gargoyle were down the hall from only two rooms, and one was the professor's study, where teachers disappeared for tea and grading papers. The other was an abandoned classroom that Filch kept extra desks and tables in- it would be difficult to maneuver through all the junk.

"I think you're overlooking the obvious, though Padma makes an excellent point," Luna added from the left, sending bubbles out of her wand and into her ear. Her legs dangled over an armchair, and Padma turned with the others, wondering where the bubbles were going.

"We can ask Snape if he'll let us in," Luna continued easily, and Tony started berating Luna while Padma considered the option.

If they could get a detention bad enough to earn the headmaster's opinion . . . no, the Carrows would never hand them over, they'd just stick them in the dungeons . . . but what if . . . what if they were offering to help Snape with something?

"We tell him about the DA," she said, and shocked, then angry faces glared at her.

"Oh, not like that," she assured, wanting to laugh but knowing it wouldn't be taken well. "We tell him we have some information, send one of us out as a decoy. Get him in his office- he's sure to want privacy- and then three others set off a disturbance right outside the Headmaster's corridor. He'll hear the commotion, set a few safety charms and then leave, and whichever of us is inside can freeze the door and open the window, if others need to be let in on brooms."

Tony blinked but Luna was smiling appreciatively. "Sounds great," Abbey admitted, and they began writing up their roles on the blackboard. Kingsley called time a few minutes later, and Padma sat down to listen to Terry and Neville's group, who had drawn a complicated diagram with arrows. Tony groaned from beside her.

"We think the best thing would be to use a well placed diversion far from the Headmaster's suite and to lure him away, and time it so a team of three can levitate one another, disillusioned or covered by the invisibility cloak, to the window ledge and into his study," Neville explained.

Kingsley grinned, but he shook his head. "If you land on the ledge, there will be intruder jinxes to let him know- and you can't set foot in that office off the ledge without opening the window- more wards- or stepping on the carpet- even more wards. It only takes one misstep, and he knows you're in there. And I'd advise you to think twice before you figure he won't have a throwing hex on the window ledge and the latch. He'd be mad not to."

"Remember Lee putting nifflers in Umbridge's office? Snape will remember that for sure," Ginny opined from the other group. Neville shot her a withering look and Seamus swore softly from behind him, before looking furtively at Kingsley to see if he'd get a reaction. Padma held in a laugh and smiled at Vatti, who was rolling her eyes.

"And you, Ginny, what have you got that's better?" Neville shot at her jokingly.

Ginny cleared her throat loudly to chortles and flung back her locks. "We decided the stairs are the point of weakness, as the portraits cannot work against the current Headmaster and the window is heavily charmed," she began with authority.

"We lured our dear Headmaster away as you did, Neville, but we sent him outside, where he could clearly see his own window. The greenhouses," Hannah smiled sweetly.

Lavender pulled the blackboard up and showed their names listed by "dungbomb brigade" and "the booby-trappers." "We asked four elves to take some 'special packages' for the Headmaster and leave them in his desk, not in his mail tray," she said coyly. "Our dear Headmaster would become certain his security had been compromised and he would be forced to reset the wards, which for Hogwarts can only be done-"

"At midnight, yeah, we get it!" Seamus growled to laughter. "Then," Lavender continued loudly, rolling her eyes provocatively, "we would send dungbombs up his stairs until he came down to investigate, and we'd have four positioned to stun him."

"That's very well done, but you've forgotten a few details," Kingsley grinned, his white teeth flashing. Padma felt her heart flutter and shook her head. He was awfully good-looking.

"If Snape sends another teacher or Filch to stop you with the dungbombs, you're running away at best. If he questions the elves directly, he can know his office is quite secure. And if he wants, he can send the gargoyle after you, and trust me, you can't stun that thing," Kingsley chuckled.

Lavender and Ginny sighed audibly, and Padma laughed with the others while pulling their blackboard up to the front. "We decided to fool him into feeling secure," she began, and Tony took over unexpectedly. Padma was sure Luna was almost smirking behind him as he explained the idea he'd originally discouraged.

"So we're already in, and he knows it, but we don't present a big threat. We figure it can't be too difficult for us to learn from Seamus' time in the potions office what spells Snape'd be likely to use on his Headmaster study," Padma finished hurriedly, hoping Tony would take the hint and shut it. Luna was practically shaking with laughter.

Kingsley seemed deep in contemplation, and Terry gave her a double thumbs up from across the room. "I like it. The only thing you have to be sure of is that Snape doesn't see right through you and freeze YOU as soon as he goes to leave," Kingsley finally answered, and he declared Padma's team the winner. Tony made a show of high-fiving Yulang, and Luna screeched in laughter.

"I'm impressed with the creativity, but I want to stress something you should have picked up on: there are lots of ways to do a mission, and all of them will have pros and cons. Not one of them is perfect. It takes a good team and a set of good leaders to encourage free-thinking and detailed planning, and to pick over any possible outcomes that could result. If you're caught, what's the worst that can happen? Who's most at risk? Is there anything permanent that might change because of your actions?" Kingsley questioned.

A bang sounded behind her and Padma turned quickly with the rest, the crowd drawing wands as one. Tonks, white-faced and frightened, was being pulled by a fearful Remus, who was showing a rounded mirror to Kingsley.

"Arthur just called me- the boys' shop had been attacked, Diagon Alley's going under- Kingsley, they're going after Gringotts! Bill says his brother saw them in the basement of the shop- they're messing with the old tunnels!" Remus yelled, and Ginny ran to Tonks, hair whipping behind her and Kingsley's face went grave and he swept over to the back door with the others.

"No, no, I'm sorry Ginny- _It's too dangerous_- your father would kill me if I brought you," Remus was saying quickly, and Tonks reached out and squeezed her hand, whispering softly.

"Thank you all for showing me your skills today, we'll see one another soon," Kingsley intoned solemnly, and with that, the three adults swept from the room, leaving an angry Ginny and a murmuring crowd in their wake. Third and Forth years poured out of the Training Room, talking quietly, and Neville sprung into action, motioning for Vatti and Padma to join him.

"This is an excellent opportunity, I think, for us to all consider the mental effects the war is having on us. We need to be able to clear our minds and control our emotions when fighting or trying to rest, and I think it's important that we ALL," he paused, meeting Ginny's furious, watery eyes, "make an effort to learn how to calm ourselves and unleash our hurt in a positive, controlled way," Neville finished. Vatti looked to Padma cautiously, and Padma looked out at the crowd. _So many eyes, _she thought, blinking at the sullen, worried faces looking back at her. Terry smiled, and Padma felt energy shoot through her.

"So we'll start with relaxing our minds and bodies with a few poses that help you balance and release your stress," she heard herself say calmly, and lowering her body onto the mat that appeared beneath her, she folded her legs and watched the students follow her lead. Eighty pairs of legs crossed and tucked, and eighty pairs of hands lay palm-up on knees, some jostling a bit as their owners tried to find a comfortable position.

As she sat facing her friends and heard Vatti telling them to relax their muscles, one by one, starting at their toes, Padma breathed in deeply, exhaling slowly. _Yes, she could do this. _


	19. A Startling Revelation

19

Draco

Draco scowled over his tea and toast, his eyes whipping down the elegant, looped script. Lucius' last letter made it clear he was to find a way to gain entry into the next attack that students were allowed to participate in. He needn't reread the heavy hints to take that in. Throwing down his napkin and abandoning his breakfast, he called for Dobby to take away his tray.

"I'd like you to tidy up my private quarters, Dobby," he gestured heedlessly, and the elf nodded his head- a less subservient gesture than Draco was used to- and tray and elf disappeared with a pop.

Draco rubbed his ears. He'd been trying to rekindle his childhood association with Dobby, hoping to hear news of what the other students were up to, but to no avail. His tone and bearing still spoke of dominance and authority, and he could not bring himself to show anything more than civility to his former charge. Dobby was known to hang around the Granger girl and cling to Potter before the dunderhead had left, and he'd seen Dobby once carrying a plate with food for the Weasley girl when they were both in the infirmary. He was surrounded by curtains, but their voices carried, and Draco had gathered that the elf he'd delighted in tormenting in his youth was now serving a mistress.

Slicking back his hair before the bathroom mirror, he inspected the jar that was running low. Refilling charms didn't work on Sleakeazy products. The expensive brand was simple to get when he was at the Manor, but somehow, he didn't think Father would send him money for hair gel when the Dark Lord was watching his every move and his father remained wandless. It was an embarrassment, Draco knew, and he felt it deeply. He would have to ignore his locks soon and let his hair fall into his eyes like every other commoner at school.

It was a Sunday, and he'd slept in, awaking to the regal hawk that was his father's most treasured pet tapping at his window. He'd once asked Father for a manticore, thinking to scare Dobby, and Father had chastised him most speedily, insisting that pets have a usefulness- a practical side- before they were valuable. In other words, they must save or make money. Emotional comfort did not count, though Draco knew his father was fond of Radcliffe, his hawk. The stray kitten Draco had brought home at six had been promptly drowned, deemed 'full of ticks and lice,' when he howled his anger and disappointment. Mother had bought him his first real broom the next day, but Draco had still sniffled a bit, wondering why the white kitten kitty hadn't been an acceptable bedmate. Their hair had matched.

The letter had included well-wishes from his mother and an account of the attack that had been botched. He was to inform his Godfather than young Mr. Nott was injured and had performed less than satisfactorily, and was to be watched for the next month. Bella had been injured, along with the majority of the fighters who encountered the goblins, though Twilfitt and Tattings had been destroyed, something which Draco was quite pleased with. He'd never forgotten the hours spent being fitted for robes that had tight, high collars and severe cuts, while his mother and the attending lady discussed stupid fabric and buttons and horrid shoes. He liked to look his best- he was a Malfoy, after all- but the excess of it all bored him. Apparently the Weasley shop had been warded shut after a crowd of Death Eaters, led by Bella, were inside, and they'd had to fight their way into the nearby vacant Ollivander's before they could escape the goblins, who were throwing swords and causing the tunnels to collapse on top of them. Draco grinned at this- at least Bella would be sore today. It was something to smile about.

Draco was stumped, however, when it came to the news of the Weasley boys escaping, and he was letting the information sink into him, trying to see if he could make it work to his advantage. Their sister was pretty, sure, but she'd never give him a shag for the news her brothers were safe. She'd spit in his face in front of all the rest of the school and tell her friends, who'd laugh at him in the halls. Draco sorely missed the physical aspect of his relationship with Pansy, who had become scary in the last month. There was no other word for it. Pansy was bloodthirsty, and she was quite pleased with herself. She'd gone from tripping third years to dragging innocent bystanders into the dungeons, intent on making them followers of her little bullying squad or reducing them to quivering, screaming masses.

Perhaps he could ask for some protection. It seemed that Padma was involved, as she was unnaturally withdrawn when in their shared common room, and she had avoided his questions about where she spent all her time when he couldn't find her for patrols. To Draco's surprise, there had been several occasions where the dutiful, perfect Head Girl had been woefully late to patrols. That these incidents coincided with jailbreaks from the dungeons had not escaped Draco's notice. There was blackmail material here, as well as the knowledge he could give Weasley, who'd been pale and withdrawn at dinner yesterday. Yes, he could use this. And if any of them admitted their involvement, he could go straight to Snape and regain his trust.

Strutting down the hall, his bag thumping his thigh as he walked, he pulled an eagle feather quill from his bag and some loose parchment, and set to scribbling a note to the Longbottom boy. If his theory was right, it would be best to make the Weasley girl think he was changing sides, and contacting another- giving her a confidant to bring with her for protection- might set her mind at ease. He called for Dobby, whose eyes widened at Draco's instructions, and the elf popped away with the letter. Draco headed out to the cold grounds, stalking towards the owlery, his cloak blowing out behind him, inky black, in the wind.

Now all he had to do was wait.

Within an hour, Draco's hands were numb and he was growing tired of the subsequent warming charms he'd placed over the room. He was also hoping that he never came that close to being pooped on by an owl again. Three times he'd deftly stepped to the side, warming his feet, only to hear a splat from beside him and looked up to see a smug owl right above the spot he'd been seconds before. Honestly, were the feather-brains _trying_ to drop their shit on his gorgeous hair?

A scuffle alerted him to the presence of outsiders, and as he turned, fake letter in hand in case it were another, Longbottom, the Looney girl, and Weasley slipped in, closing the door behind them. The Looney girl whipped her wand in a wide arch and Draco rolled his eyes. She checking for wombats, or whatever it was she was always blabbering on about. Then warmth drenched over him in a wave, as though he'd stepped inside after a long walk in the new snow, and he sighed appreciatively before he could stop himself. Longbottom stepped forward, his expression serious and guarded.

"Dobby brought us a note saying you had information for Ginny," he spoke , his wand level with Draco's chest. "We'd like to know if this is a trap, or if you've just decided you want something we've got."

"That would depend on what you've got," Draco smirked, his eyes resting on the Weasley girl, who reddened and glared back. "Not much, likely, but it'll have to do," he said sarcastically.

Neville's face tightened, but the Weasley girl laughed. "You still think you're better off just because you've got money? Hell, Neville's as loaded as you are, he just doesn't stink of ego like you do," she threw at him, and before he could reply, she'd cut into him again. "Your father and mother are more servants than any of us will ever be! Voldemort could tell them to eat their own shite and they'd do it!"

Draco flinched at the name. He flushed and started forward, intent on throttling the little snot, but Neville had cast a shield, and he was forced to turn away so they couldn't see his anger. He was a Malfoy. He would show them.

"I didn't come to be insulted by your pathetic attempts at wit, Weasley, I came to do you a favor," he growled, reminding himself of the glories to be had should he find information for Snape. _Carefully, now,_ he cautioned himself. _Don't seem too eager to help_. "But if flirting with me is all you're interested in, I can leave and take my information to another source," he threatened, and though Weasley looked outraged, the Looney girl shook her head and smiled mysteriously.

"I don't think you'd do that, Draco," Looney said with the same infernal smile on her lips. "I think you're starting to wonder if you've picked the right side. You just don't want to admit it yet. But if you want to think you're playing us, that's fine. We can play too, if you'd like."

Draco was flabbergasted, but he recovered quickly. "You're mad," he said, cursing himself for his short, rather telling reply.

The Weasley girl was looking at him with something akin to frank judgement, however, and it made his skin tingle unpleasantly.

"Did you wonder before you got up in the tower, or was it only when you lowered your wand?" she asked shrewdly, and Draco gulped. _How could she know?_

"I don't know what you're talking about," he bluffed, but even he could see it was a poor attempt.

"Harry was up there, Malfoy. He told me what you did. You couldn't do it," Weasley said softly, and the other two were staring at her, intent upon the exchange. _What could he do? His plans were fast unraveling. What if he didn't go to Snape? What could he gain from actually helping them? And if he did, and Father found out- or, Merlin forbid- the Dark Lord- he'd be dead. Wasn't it better to live a coward than to die a fool?_

_But Potter was a baby when the Dark Lord attacked him, and he'd stopped him before. Potter was crazy, foolhardy, and had no respect for power or money, but he always seemed to get out of danger in the end. What if there was no way the Dark Lord could kill him? Wouldn't it be safer to have a second option open?_

"Iwantedtotellyouthey'resafe," he blurted out, hardly believing himself.

Neville shook his head, confused, but Ginny was glowing with anxiety.

"George and Fred and the others, you've heard what happened?" she asked tentatively, and Draco nodded. Well, he'd stuck his foot in it now. He might as well work this to his advantage, even if it wasn't the angle he'd wanted.

"I just know they got away, I don't know if they were hurt. It was the older one, the one who works at Gringotts, and one of the twins- Fa-I mean, the letter I got didn't say which one," he said, running his hands through his hair nervously. Neville had broken the shield and the three were silent, exchanging looks, until they seemed to decide something. Looney walked over and waved her wand at a fallen feather. It glowed gold for a moment, then faded. She handed it to a dumbfounded Draco.

"When this glows, we have news for you. You can trust Hannah, Susan, or Padma as well. The others might not be as trusting. If you need to contact us with any more information, banish the feather- it'll return to Ginny's pocket or mine," she added, and Draco grasped the plain black feather, looking at it dubiously. Without another word, the three turned and swiftly left, but the warmth remained. Draco sat looking at the feather, wondering how it was he had just become an honorary member of the rebellion against the Dark Lord.

_Shit_, he thought suddenly. He hadn't told the Looney girl her father was about to be arrested. He'd have to save it for later.


	20. The Sword of Godric Gryffindor

I'm shooting for three chapters in one 24-hour period- crazy, I know! There was one last night, one this morning, and now one this evening- I had a boring day off. My boyfriend is on vacation :-(

Please cheer me up with some great reviews!!!

20

Luna

The pickles would not come out of the jar. She was starting to become suspicious. Perhaps there was some pickle-loving bug that made it's home in her jar, and he was currently weighing them down or jinxing them to stay in his habitat. Oh well, Luna sighed. She'd wait for tomorrow and see if any change had occurred. She did rather fancy a pickle in the mornings for a snack.

It had been three days since Luna, Neville, and Ginny had spoken with Draco, and thus far, they had heard nothing in return from him. Luna's own work at encouraging Slytherins to help the DA had been more successful than she'd hoped for. Astoria Greengrass had reluctantly admitted she was frightened by her parents and the Dark Lord, and she'd like to have some protection from the DA. In return, she'd given Luna information on Pansy's plans and what life in Slytherin tower was for students. Luna had been appalled but not surprised to learn that as bad as it was elsewhere, Slytherins had just as much pain and suffering from the Carrows. Some were forced to torture others in detention, and younger students were pitted against one another for who could bring more favor to their families. Astoria had been in the process of deciding how she felt about Voldemort's ideas when she'd confided her worries in her older sister, Daphne, who was prefect in Luna's grade for Slytherin. Her sister had turned her in to Alecto, who'd punished her with three days without food in the dungeons. Astoria had come for Luna the day she got out.

Really, once Luna had cottoned on to helping Astoria, giving her a shield cloak to wear and offering to teach her healing spells, other Slytherins had been much more forthcoming in their curiosity. Wade, a fifth year, had offered to watch out for the first and second year Slytherins and to protect them within his house, in exchange for the DA's protection and some spell-help. Ella, a third year, had joined Luna's Slytherin division as the second recruit, and she was perfectly poised to help with jailbreaks, as her sister was the fifth year Slytherin girl's prefect. Luna gave Ella a set of instructions on how to cast a confounding charm, which the little girl did each time before her sister went on rounds. Beside these three, four others had pledged smaller help; Augustine Lestrange, a cousin of Rodolphus and Rabastan, had been the biggest shock: it turned out the young man was not interested in the girls, but rather the boys, of his year, and he had figured that in the Dark Lord's new regime, his uniqueness may not be appreciated. Luna had been delighted when his boyfriend, Xenias Witherby, had handed off a list of "suspected students" copied from Amycus' own papers. Augustine himself had been given a communication pebble, like Draco's feather- she was not sure that he was serious, and she still didn't like the withdrawn look in his eyes that made her question if he had wrackspurts bothering him. Augustine had promised an update after he went to his first "junior Death Eaters" meeting on how they were recruiting the under 20 crowd, however, and Luna knew his news could prove vital.

She shifted her shoes, flipping them off onto the carpet of the Ravenclaw common room and swapping the left and right, before slipping them on. It was not quite as good as being able to claim she'd "walked in their shoes", but inconveniencing herself should let any Slytherins she passed know she understood their pain. She had a meeting to attend, of sorts- before her mission tonight.

Hobbling out of the common room, she banished all her books back to her desk and then hopped down to the library, touching her radishes for luck. They swung against her ears, setting her head to bobbing a bit as she walked, and with her toes cramped into the wrong shoes, she looked like a flamingo, her long ponytail streaming behind her like tail feathers. Luna turned down a rather densely populated corridor- charms was just letting out, and transfiguration too it seemed- and then scaled the steps to the library carefully, trying not to drop the glass she was balancing. It was practice for tonight, though she suspected the students staring at her weren't aware of that fact. Water sloshed from side to side in the glass, but so far, she'd been able to walk steadily enough to keep it from dripping out. "Lovely," she smiled to herself, emptying the glass- _she could never be too hydrated!-_ and banishing it, too, back to her desk. She swayed into the library, looking for her quarry.

Two issues of "Magizoology Today" later, Luna was feeling the beginnings of doubt. She was sure that Astoria was merely being held up by a whistling jitterbaug, but she hoped that it wasn't true. It was so unpleasant to get one's memories restored, and it would be horrible if she never remembered what she needed to hand off to Luna. It was vital to the stunt tonight, and without both specimens- _yes, maybe she'd open a new book and get some reading done while she waited_. She'd finished all her work for the next week last night. Funny, but Padma and Terry had never believed she was done whenever she asked to join their study group just to sit with them. For some reason, they'd thought her odd.

Luna's eyes darted to the door to see Astoria enter, eyes fixed on the Magical Creatures aisle, and stalked into it, pushing a Hufflepuff first year out of the way. She did need to work on her manners, but Luna had seen enough tentative Slytherin recruits to know that spies needed a cover- and sometimes, using "Mudblood" and giving a Hufflepuff a shove were what was needed. She certainly preferred them to using the Cruciatus.

Luna stretched languidly, flipping her shoes back to the right feet and closing her book, "Hungry, Hungry Horntails." Pacing to Astoria's aisle (_wasn't it nice she'd guessed the right section!_), she walked up behind the girl, whose black hair was lying in curls down her back. Luna slipped her book back into it's place, brushing against Astoria's side, and felt a soft weight slide into her front pocket. Reaching into her bag, she pulled out parchment, scribbled a note about the book's title and author so she could mark it off her list- no mention of the Crumple Horned Snorkack!- and shifted her hand, dropping the payment on the floor. She felt Astoria bend over, picking up a book she'd dropped surreptitiously, along with the shiny new DA coin Luna had gotten for her. Astoria was going to be inducted this Friday, just before everyone left for Christmas holidays. She was to become the first Slytherin DA member, something Luna was extremely excited about. She just hoped Neville, Susan, Ginny, and the others would feel so too, when she brought Astoria to the officers meeting tomorrow.

After all, the red just didn't look as nice in the common room without some green to complement it.

She left the library. There were others waiting for her in Myrtle's bathroom, and she mustn't be late. If the timing was off, the whole plan would go to pot, Neville had told her, and Luna was not sure what that would mean. She understood his tone, however, which told her that much of their next few months might be riding on her ability to procure certain desired objects which Slytherins were best at getting.

It was their riskiest mission yet. She knew that somewhere within her front pocket, there were two glass vials, one labeled "M" and another, "F". The hairs inside belonged to her least favorite professors, Amycus and Alecto, and were to be used for polyjuice. The "M" stood for "Mugwhump-Shagger," as Seamus had dubbed Amycus, while the "F" stood for "Frump-Weasel," as Alecto was known by. Luna found she much preferred to think of them two as Evil-Sibling-Girl and Evil-Sibling-Boy. Much less confusing, since she wasn't sure that Seamus' nicknames for the two weren't interchangeable.

Kingsley's strategy lesson the past weekend had sparked some ideas within the Ravenclaws, and when Luna had told a shocked room full of DA officers that getting Snape's password was easy, since she already knew it, the plan had seemed to fall into their hands, rather than being coached. Ginny and Luna would act as the professors, since the Gargoyle could not detect polyjuice, Michael assured. The others would splatter some graffiti in the dungeons- Luna's own suggestion- with permanent paint in "sunshine colors," to brighten the atmosphere for the next inmates. It was a risky proposal, one that guaranteed the five students involved at least a whipping and a night chained in the dungeons- but as Hannah had joked happily, they were killing two birds with one stone. Harry required the sword, and Ginny was confident that Remus could find him if he sent out a patronus for a meeting. Their only need was to stake out a diversion and guarantee Neville, their guard, and Ginny and Luna enough time to steal the sword and get back to the room. Luna had been very pleased with the arrangement. Finally, something other than drab, moldy wall to stare at whenever she got punished!

She picked up her pace in the final corridor, seeing as it was empty, and the bathroom door swung open before she could get to it.

"Get yer arse in here!" Seamus hissed, and Luna patted him on the shoulder and entered. Ginny was already changed and Luna ripped off her blouse and trousers, pulling the bigger robes Susan offered her over her head in a rush. Seamus gasped and began to say something approving before being silenced by Susan's terse slap. What was the big deal? Luna wondered, turning to the others. _They all had most of the same parts, after all_. Ginny grabbed the hairs as soon as she pulled the vials, tightly wrapped, from Luna's pocket, and the spellotape was cut from the ends with a quick flick of Seamus' knife. Two brandy glasses stood waiting, filled with the sludgy consistency of polyjuice, and Susan added the hairs. Luna's glass was for Alecto, since she couldn't pretend to be evil as well as Ginny could, and it was generally agreed upon that Alecto was loud-evil, while Amycus was creepy-evil, and required deeper acting. Though Luna didn't quite get the difference, she'd watched Alecto for the past three days, trying to imitate her shuffle and cackle in the girl's loo. She'd gotten some interesting looks from the younger students who'd come in when she was pretending to sing opera in Alecto's low, grungy voice.

Alecto's hair fizzed and turned the potion a frothy green, while Ginny let out a disgusted "urgh!" as her own dose bubbled gloppily and turned a muddy chartreuse. Luna frowned- at least it was only for a tiny millionth-trillionth of their full lives. Holding her nose, she clinked her glass against Ginny's and downed the putrid cupful, coughing as a glob of something slimy struggled down her throat. Her head burned and she felt her hair shorten- her body was melting, hot, bubbly- her skin was tanning olive before her eyes, and Ginny was shooting up, her shoulders doubling in size.

Susan's hurried voice startled her from her recollections.

"Ok, Seamus and I will be ready and waiting by the Room to let you in if Snape starts tailing ... Ernie's already inside with Hannah, to heal any necessary injuries. _Remember- you mustn't be seen._ The coin just burned, so you have twenty five minutes until Snape might get back to his room. You'd better truck it!" she said, and Ginny pulled Luna out of the Room, Neville and the others following. Susan and Seamus started running up to the stairs to get to the fifth floor, and Luna thought of Lavender, Parvati, Mike, Terry and Quentin, who were currently fighting the real Amycus and Alecto in the dungeons. Probably along with Pansy, she thought regrettably. Theirs was not a task she relished, though usually, she loved to paint.

Luna raced behind Ginny, her trainers squeaking lightly from under bigger robes. She wasn't used to being so heavy. Neville ran ahead of them, disillusioned, and the three made quick work of the halls between Myrtle's Bathroom and the Headmaster's study. Luna was proud of her calves, built strong over months of physical training in the Room, but these muscles were not her own. Alecto was terribly out of shape, and Luna was winded by the time they reached the Gargoyle.

"Doe," she said to the Gargoyle, and he slid aside, revealing the revolving doors. Now came the tricky part.

As the stone steps opened into the study, she and Ginny walked backwards, staying on the top step. Luna pulled out her wand, casting the _specialis revelio_ over the space, and when nothing appeared, she sent the second spell, _Magilluminari_, out and crossed her fingers. Ginny noxxed the lights near the study, leaving the single staircase light on to show them their feet. With a hastily silenced whoop, she and Ginny looked at the lights, some dim, others bright and pulsing, that crisscrossed and outlined the floor. Five minutes of backwards stepping later, Luna had dismantled the nasty ceiling curse and a tricky air-disturbance charm, while Ginny was done unraveling the intruder jinxes on the floor and was sweating as she froze the portraits en masse. Luna swirled her wand, directing it at the last curse to be lifted, which was old enough it might have been before Dumbledore, and the beam of deep red light was sucked off the floor and into her wand, which vibrated heavily. With an exhausted sigh, the girls stepped into the study, and Ginny bent down to rub her feet. Luna was breathing heavily from the exertion. Her feet ached from stepping down again and again, and her mind actually hurt from the power she'd expended in lifting the wards. It was too bad she hadn't thought to ask Alecto what her shoe size was- her feet were cramped into shoes three sizes too small. Luna thought of the line from her favorite Snorkack fairytale, _How the Snorkack Stole Christmas- _"Maybe his shoes were two sizes too small", and giggled. She'd always loved to hear Mother read the line about Cindy Lou Who. Ginny smiled at her, and then their task at hand sunk into both faces, and they turned to the glass case where Gryffindor's sword lay, glittering with rubies.

"So, the knife first?" she asked, and Ginny nodded before sliding Seamus' knife under the lock. The knife made a grinding noise, and Ginny withdrew it to see the tip had begun to melt. _Perhaps not the knife, then, _Luna thought wryly. She'd told Seamus that Snape was cleverer than that, but he'd insisted his knife would "best that bastard!"

Luna flung some unlocking charms, both standard and rare, at the glass case, but it did not budge. After ten minutes, the girls became frantic, and Luna was near tears. She'd never encountered something she couldn't solve before. _What if Snape came back?_ They only had five minutes left to get back to the Room, even if they could get the case open!

Ginny stopped her spell-casting to stare at the case in contemplation. Behind her, Dumbledore sat in his frame, looking on at their display curiously. He was the only portrait they had not frozen, out of respect, and though they'd greeted him, he'd merely offered his salutations and then fell silent. He'd disappeared for a moment, but they'd thought nothing of it: with Dumbledore, they were safe.

"I think I've got it," Ginny whispered, and Luna saw that her face was set, determined- and fearful. Before Luna could do anything to stop her, Ginny had transfigured a nearby desk-weight into a sharp piece of glass, and she'd wrapped her fingers around it. Luna started forward to pull it away, sure she would cut herself terribly, but Ginny raised her hand and brought the glass down forcefully against the case, ripping through her skin. The case cracked.

"I dunno which it is, but if you don't want anyone but a Gryffindor to get it, you make them do something brave to get to it," Ginny explained, breaking the rest of the glass off with her wand and pulling a stray shard from the deep cut that nearly severed her hand. Luna ran her wand over the blood, cleansing and trying to seal it as Ginny winced, but the cut was too deep- the skin regrew and then suddenly stopped, and Luna grimaced as fresh blood poured through, widening the cut again.

"Oh, Ginny, I'm sorry- it's too deep without dittany- have you got any?" Luna asked hopefully, trying to heal it again- this time, some of the skin stayed intact, and after a third attempt, a patchy, leaky scab had formed, like a scarlet spider web panned across Ginny's hand.

The glass was covered in her blood, and Luna scourgified it with a flick, then shook herself, remembering that they needed to get the sword, not tidy the office. Dumbledore had disappeared again, and Luna wondered if he'd gone to tell Pomfrey they were in trouble. She hoped he'd be discreet.

White hot pain ran through her hand as she grasped the sword, and she dropped it with a yelp in the case. Ginny shook her head. "Sorry, it's got to be me, I broke the case, and I'm in Gryffindor, too," she said, gritting her teeth as her tender hand reached inside and maneuvered the sword out. She set it carefully on the table, where it gleamed in the brighter light, and Luna wrapped her dripping hand with some bandages she conjured.

"We've got to get going," Ginny said through clenched teeth, and Luna levitated the sword into Ginny's bag, covering the tip that stuck out with a roll of parchment. She put an imperturbable between the sword and the bag, wanting no more bloody accidents. Ginny vanished the remaining blood and glass shards and the girls turned to the stairs.

"My, my, Miss Weasley, Miss Lovegood- you seem to have some explaining to do."

The Headmaster's voice was like ice in her chest.


	21. The Wand, the Stone, and the Cloak

581 visitors from 36 countries – can I just say wow? That's awesome! Hey, whoever is reading from Bulgaria- you're with my ancestors!!! This chapter is a turning point, not only because of the timing, but because Fleur plays an important role. It also sets up the next chapter, where we see a side of Snape that only Luna thinks exists. Happy reading!

Cheers,

Jenna

21

Neville

He struggled against the cords the bound him, but he knew it was no use. They would only dig in tighter. His breath caught in his throat as the door began to grind, stairs slowly coming down, and then the bottoms of three black robes appeared in his line of vision, with two pairs of trainers and a set of inky black boots. Neville strained to look up, but his heavy heart had already prepared him to see Ginny and Luna, both bound as well, and a vindictive, gloating Snape.

"I must admit, I am most displeased that you felt a single guard could keep me from my own quarters." Snape's lip curled. Neville's eyes widened. _Why was Ginny bleeding? Her robes were covered! _ He felt the disillusion charm being lifted and heard Ginny's unhappy moan when Snape pulled the sword from her bag and then stuck the three of them to the floor, before turning to mount the stairs.

"I will be securing this little . . . gem . . . and then we will be discussing your punishment tonight," the Headmaster's voice lingered in the corridor. Luna was crying, silent tears running down her cheeks. Neville pulled himself to as much of a sitting position as he could reach, and leant over, ripping his trousers a bit to get to his discarded wand. The bastard had disarmed him from fifteen feet away before he'd even realized Snape had rounded the corner. How'd he'd done it, Neville figured he'd never know, but if the Headmaster had some sort of ability to see disillusioned figures or sense people's presences, they were in for a lot more trouble before the year was out.

If we make it that far, Neville thought bitterly. This was the biggest breach into Snape's boundaries they'd accomplished yet, and he had been glowering admirably when he'd left to replace the sword in it's case. Neville shivered. He wouldn't let anything happen to his girls. Could he contact someone to come get them?

Ginny must have had the same idea. She was pressing on her coin through her robes, and Neville saw Luna mimic her. At this moment, however, he knew that whoever was in the Room had likely watched the entire sorry evening go down on the Map, and they saw exactly where the three were trapped. No one was stupid enough to send a trio of fighters out to rescue them, not with Snape so nearby and so lethally furious.

Luna let out a stifled sob and Ginny hugged her as close as possible, murmuring something Neville couldn't hear. "So what happened?" he asked, hoping to learn how Ginny had injured herself. Luna stopped whimpering and explained what curses had been in place, and the time standing on the stairs, and then Ginny had broken the case and cut herself in the process. Both the girls grew silent, but if they wanted to keep a few details to themselves, Neville was fine with that. He'd seen enough pain in one year.

"Do either of you have your wands?" Neville asked, and the girls shook their heads. Somehow, waiting for Snape to punish them felt worse than the actual punishment itself- what would he make them do? What would he do to them? Would he kill them? Could he actually kill a student?

The stone steps began to move once more, and Ginny let out a sob that startled Neville. Snape's face appeared, a vein throbbing on his forehead unpleasantly, and his fists were clenched. Neville felt his stomach fall out.

"I have summoned Hagrid. You will assist him tonight in the forest. You will use no magic," he said, his eyes glittering as he summoned Neville's wand silently.

"What will we be doing?" Neville croaked, wishing he sounded more composed.

"Collecting Acromantula hairs," Snape replied, and Neville's stomach rolled over violently at the smirk on Snape's face. "Alecto will be checking in on you at midnight. She'd like the chance to thank you for your excellent performance," he said silkily, and Neville knew without a doubt that they'd gone from sitting on stumps for the night to running and being hunted.

"I will add . . . yes, an hour, onto our _weekly chats_, Miss Weasley. Miss Lovegood, you will be joining me for an hour after Miss Weasley is done each Saturday, so we can discuss your father's . . . talented journalism skills. And you, Mr. Longbottom," he spoke, his voice barely a grim whisper, "will be whipping up some potions for me during that time each Saturday. _If_ you survive your . . . detention . . . tonight."

"You will bring back a hair for each of you, or we will continue this assignment tomorrow night," Snape said, and their legs were unstuck. Cold air hit his leg through the gap in his trousers, and he felt something sticky on his forehead. He raised his hand- blood smeared across it, and Neville frowned. He hadn't even realized he'd hit his head that hard.

The foursome made a strange procession, one leading the other three to their doom. It felt colder than Neville remembered in the castle, and the corridor lights were flickering on as the sun fell in the sky, a blood-red blaze. They passed the long windows on the west side of the castle, and Ginny and Luna shuffled behind him, swamped by oversized robes. Snape turned at the door and banished the girls' robes, "So you may run, if you need to," he sneered, and Neville clenched his teeth. So they'd be running tonight, eh? Well, that was suggestive. For the first time that night, fear for himself overcame him, and he dropped his face. He would not let Snape see his weakness.

Hagrid was standing uncomfortably to the side, and he seemed to want to say something, but Snape silenced him with a sharp glare. The three set off to the outskirt of the forest, where the sun had fallen, tipping precariously below the edge of the horizon. Luna was clinging to Neville, her body shaking, and Neville patted her on the back. Ginny seemed to be rallying ahead of them, and she straightened up, looking at Hagrid's weary face.

"Do you still have your umbrella?" she asked Hagrid hopefully, and Hagrid shook his head sadly as Neville cocked his head in confusion. _Did she think it was going to storm?_

"I'm sorry, Gin, but I have ter leave yeh at the edge, and I can' stay with yeh three tonigh'," Hagrid said, wringing his hands. He pulled a long hunting knife from his sheath at his side and handed it to Neville. The thing was heavy in his hand, and he realized that as the man, he'd be the one to kill whatever threatened them. If he could.

Hagrid clapped him reassuringly on his back, and Neville almost bowled over from the weight.

"Yeh'll be needin' it, I fear," he said, and a tear trickled into his beard. "Wish I had summat more to give, but Snape took me umbrella months ago, and Fang won't go in the forest no more," and Neville nodded. "Thanks, Hagrid, this might save us," he said gratefully, and Luna shuddered beside him.

"What are we going to do?" Ginny said in a tiny voice beside him. Neville didn't answer. Things looked bad. In fact, they had seldom looked worse. No one could get out of the castle after dark- there was a sealing spell over the doors and windows. Even the elf door to the kitchen. No one would be able to get out to help them, and they were stuck on the Hogwarts grounds until morning, having skipped dinner. Ginny was weak and still bleeding heavily, from the look of her soaked bandage. They had no wands. Brillant, he thought angrily, and his frustration filled him with warmth, strengthening him. He had to get them through this.

Neville looked at the gnarled trees, dark outlines before them. They'd be safer in the forest with some cover than out on the grounds, where Alecto could see them from the windows if she wished. Neville squared his shoulders and pulled back a branch, letting Ginny and Luna inside.

"Do you remember if the Map had anything from the forest?" Luna asked, and Ginny nodded. "The centaurs are usually camped out for the night in the back, near the west edge of the grounds," she informed them quietly, as the three picked their way through the underbrush. Twigs snapped, and Neville felt burrs catch on his trousers. "The acromantulas have a nest in the southern corner, and the thestrals are in between us now and that area," Ginny continued. Luna whimpered again.

"I don't like spiders," she whispered, ashamed, and Ginny patted her on the shoulder. "I don't fancy meeting one fifteen times my size, either," she said weakly, and the three stopped at a small lake, catching their breath.

"If we had our wands, we could just summon the damn hairs from fifty feet away," Neville grumbled, and Ginny bent down, cupping her good hand and bringing water to her mouth from the stream. Neville and Luna followed suit, knowing that dehydrated, they'd feel hungrier and run slower. They could pass up no help they might encounter.

Ginny shrieked as something dragged her hand under, and Neville pulled her back and slashed his knife in the water. Ginny examined a cut on her hand that Luna was wrapping in a piece of fabric torn from her shirt. "I knew it was too good to be true, having my wand hand healthy," she muttered angrily, and Neville kept his eyes on the stream. Something had smelled the blood on her other hand. After a few minutes patient waiting, the three gave up and abandoned their stream, heading towards a sparce grouping of trees that looked younger. "Can anybody tell which direction we're going now? We don't want to walk right into the acromantulas without a plan first," Luna said, and Ginny pointed to a stump.

"Charlie told me moss always grows thickest on the north side of trees." By that precept, Neville figured they were facing west, into the forest. The three sat down on the ground, and Luna was rewrapping Ginny's deepest cut, discarding the soiled bandage. A warning shot through his body.

"DON'T!" Neville said loudly. "Acromantulas can smell blood, remember? We have to put it somewhere else!" he cried, and taking hold of the mass, he wrapped leaves around it and backtracked to the stream, throwing it in. The pile floated for a moment and then pinchers closed around it and disappeared. Neville shuddered and trekked back to the girls.

"Any ideas?" he asked, and Luna sighed and rubbed her arms. It was mid December, and none of them had cloaks or gloves or scarves, thanks to Snape. Neville pulled the two closer to each side of them, but they were still cold. He struggled out of his robe, which Snape had forgotten to take, and took the knife, ripping it along the side. He wrapped it around the girls, though Ginny protested at first. Luna told her in what was quite a firm voice for Luna that she should stuff it, since she was the one who was weakest right now.

"Fine," Ginny grumbled, and the slanting of the sun fell further down their faces. Soon, they would not be able to see anything. They'd be lucky to make it through the night without losing any limbs. It was freezing outside, even though the snow had melted earlier today. "We should try to move around, get our blood flowing," Luna suggested halfheartedly, and Neville pulled Ginny to her feet, groaning as the cold settled over his chest again. His knees had really felt warm against it.

"We need to decide what to do," he ventured, hoping to Morganna someone else would take charge. This was a time when being the leader made him feel helpless.

"I vote we just stay alive tonight," Luna said calmly. "Tomorrow we can heal Ginny's hands, rest up, get some food, and figure out a plan to get those hairs. We can even check the potions class to see if there are any in there we can filch and bring out with us to the forest."

"And we can hide some essentials in our shoes," Ginny added, catching on hopefully, "like some dittany and a lighter, if Seamus still has that one Dean gave him. We could make torches for light, heat, and as a weapon," she finished. Luna nodded, and Neville thought that perhaps they should focus on a way to hide a few wands on their persons. Snape would be deadly if he found them, but it was worth the shot. They only had two days left in term, as this weekend everyone would go back for Christmas holidays.

"For now, we should gather some leaves to insulate us- we can pile them around the base of a tree and snuggle in. Decaying plants give off heat," Neville reminded. Ginny started shuffling clumsily, her feet kicking at the great heaps of leaves that were surrounding them. Luna cracked off several branches and knelt down, and Neville saw her tying her shoelace around the tops of them.

"A broom for you," she said cheerily, offering it to Ginny, who chuckled. Neville's heart lightened. If they focused on surviving the night, they could make it.

Luna struck down more branches and fashioned a second broom for herself while Neville began cutting down thicker branches, piling them against the sides of two trees that had a huge boulder behind them. Ginny and Luna brushed leaves onto the floor and side of his makeshift hut, and Neville saw Luna bend over, weaving branches into one another to make the roof more durable.

"Good thinking," he offered, and he attacked a thick sapling nearby, clawing at the roots. It killed him to hurt this tree, but he knew it was survival at this point. He could almost sense the trees around them, their pain as the knife slid through bark and thin, delicate shoots. He stripped the little branches and spare leaves off each limb deftly. He didn't want to get poked in the eye when they were inside. Bending the tender sapling, he threaded in under the mass that Luna had woven together, and the arch supported them perfectly. His eyes stung with tears, looking at the little tree that had sacrificed so much. He'd plant another at home in the Greenhouse in its honor. If they made it.

They worked swiftly, and soon, a tiny hovel that would have made Malfoy have a hernia stood before them, bustled by the rock and two thick tree trunks on either side. Luna swept the leaf pile into the floor and Neville looked around for Ginny. Where had she gone?

He traipsed back to the stream, hoping she hadn't been stupid enough to go back to deal with the thing that had bitten her. She couldn't give it bat bogeys without a wand, after all. Ginny was sitting at the base of a tree, snapping some flat, flinty rocks together. In the dark of the forest, Neville saw a metallic glint by her feet.

"I found a shovel," she said, displaying it like a rare fossil at a dig. "I'm trying to see if there are any pieces of flint by the creek- Charlie lit a fire once at home when we wanted to roast a fish I caught and Mum wouldn't let us use her kitchen."

Sparks flew out from the two rocks, and Ginny grinned. "Let's get back to Luna, I can heap some dirt up to cover our scent," Neville smiled. Perhaps they'd get through this after all.

He dragged the shovel behind them, moving dirt over their footprints. You could never be too careful. Harry had told him he'd seen things just as bad as the acromantulas before in here, and Neville didn't want to meet them.

Once back in the small copse of trees, he set to work in the twilight, pulling dirt up around the hut and mounding it over the sides and top. Bits trickled down on Luna, who giggled, and Neville wondered if the creativity used to make their hut was easing the tension. Were they playing house, like little children did? Ginny looked thoughtful, and Neville heard her murmuring a story to Luna about a tree house they'd kept where she had tea parties for her stuffed bears. Luna was chuckling, and Neville wiped sweat that had run down his forehead and pulled up the bark sheath he'd peeled off a giant oak whole. This, along with a heftly rock the two girls had helped him move, was their door. At least it was warmer inside, he thought, and the girls offered him part of the ripped robe, which he accepted. He wasn't nearly as cold as he'd been at first, though that would change when the sweat cooled.

It was night, clearly, but he could still see their faces, even in the light that crept in the cracks of their roof. He studied his friends, Ginny, tired but resting, and Luna, looking for all the world now like she was in the middle of a slumber party rather than the Forbidden Forest. Neville drew them close, hugging the girls, and sighed. Yes, they would be fine. He could still see the outline of Luna's hair and Ginny's arms, lit by the moonlight streaming in through bare tree branches. In fact, it looked almost like daylight, just blue . . .

Moonlight.

_Fuck_.

"Oh Merlin help us," Neville whispered, as Ginny looked at him quickly and then her eyes flew up, looking at the perfectly full moon rising over them, free of the clouds.

A howl sounded in the distance. It wavered, drawing to a slow, lulling sound, and the hairs stood up on Neville's neck. It was full moon. Their relaxed figures had gone stiff the second he'd sworn, and Luna was now gazing, bright eyed and fearful, at the orb glowing sinisterly above them.

"He wouldn't get us killed," Luna said, "Ginny reminds him of Lily, he couldn't kill her off," she was mumbling, and Neville started shaking. They might not be killed, but they were about to find out just how perceptive a werewolf's nose was. He had a terrible, gut-curling hunch that it was good enough to find them in their mud and thatch hut, especially with Ginny's bleeding hand, which she was gazing at, horror and fresh guilt sweeping across her face. Ginny lurched forward with a look of determination, and Neville reacted in a split second decision.

"DON'T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT, AND THAT'S AN ORDER," he snarled, and Ginny sat back down, curled up, and began to sob. Luna curled against her, whispering, and Neville sat up hard, keeping his eyes and ears open, the knife in his hand tipped toward the door.

"Ginny, Luna, can you do that shield thing?" Neville asked quietly, feeling ashamed of making Ginny cry. He would not let her leave to get the blood away from them, no matter how she felt.

Luna shook her head sorrowfully. "You need to be holding a wand in your other hand, and even if we could, we couldn't shelter you too. And I don't think Ginny can do much while she's this hurt, it could drain her magic," she said softly. Neville's mind raced as a second howl and then another sounded. _There was more than one of them_.

"FUCK!" he snapped loudly. _His mirror!_ He grabbed the robe roughly, turning out the pockets, before remembering with sorrow it was tucked into his cloak pocket. He hadn't wanted it to get broken if Snape dueled him.

Ginny had hers in her dormitory as well. There was no use asking, he'd counseled her against bringing it just earlier that afternoon. Cursing himself for his ineptness, he asked Luna if she knew any other wandless magic.

Luna concentrated for awhile, and there was silence, apart from Ginny's sniffling. Suddenly the stone was growing, and Neville's jaw dropped. Their rock had stretched to cover their roof, and had welded itself around the trees.

"That's as much as I think I can do," Luna panted, rubbing her temples. Three walls were now closed in. Neville breathed out deep. "Ok, so all we have to do is keep ourselves quiet, and defend this door if anything tries to get in," he said, and his voice sounded much more confident than he felt.

Luna closed her eyes, humming, and Neville recognized the position she was in from Parvati and Padma's demonstration. Nudging Ginny, they both took meditative stances, and legs shifted until the were all facing the unknown, backs to their shelter, sitting cross-legged side by side. Deep, low breaths came in and out. Ginny's sniffling stopped, and Luna hummed louder, filling the space with a quiet, comforting buzz.

Snarls and a few deep barks startled them, and they held their breaths as one. A trampling sound rushed past a few yards away, and they were silent until no further sounds reached their ears. Neville let out his breath in a gasp and Ginny and Luna did the same.

"I don't think I can handle ten more hours of listening to that," Ginny whispered exhaustedly, and she started stretching her hand, watching the muscles carefully. The skin kept attempting to regrow, only to fall back, exposing the muscle and making her wince.

"Ginny, didn't you say you'd started working on a wandless patronus?" Luna asked softly.

Ginny nodded, looking at the two of them. "I-I don't know if I can do it, even without this," she said, gesturing to her hand, and biting her lip. "I guess it wouldn't hurt to try. Who should I contact?"

Neville thought. Remus was out, as was Tonks, since she needed to guard his locked den, and most of her family was surrounded by muggle-born refugees at Muriel's.

Luna piped up. "Get Fleur," she said, as though it was obvious. "She's part Veela, she can cross the boundary of the grounds into the Forest without getting thrown back. Dumbledore put it in line so the centaurs could run over if they wanted," she explained, and Ginny nodded. She closed her eyes, her wand arm outstretched, and Neville began reciting times they'd won the House Cup, or he'd seen her laughing with Harry, or that time in the Common Room when he'd asked her to the Yule Ball and her face had lit up. Luna chuckled, and reminded her of the time in Ottery St. Catchpole when they were little, and she'd picked the lock on the broom shed so they could ride together, and Luna had gotten stuck in a tree. Neville told her to think about her kiss with Harry after the House Quidditch Cup, and Ginny's grin spread across her face like honey in the moonlight. Her pale eyelids opened, and her gaze grew steely.

"Expecto Patronum!" she cried softly, and a white light surrounded them. It solidified into a doe, graceful and tentative, who lowered her head to Ginny's and let her stroke the soft fuzz along her elegant head.

"Fleur, we're stuck in the Forbidden Forest in a hut we made. We have no wands. There are at least two werewolves out here tonight. Look for the red sparks and be careful. Please be quick."

At this the doe galloped away, flying around the trees, and Ginny slumped back, drained. Luna bent over her limp figure. "She's fainted," she informed Neville softly. Neville began to tap Ginny's face, but Luna held his hand back. "She needs to rest, and it won't do any good to have her awake," she reminded him, and Neville helped Luna lift Ginny up and pull her back further into the cave behind them. Luna curled Ginny's leg's up and lay her on her side, facing the door, and then tucked the robe carefully around Ginny's back and under her legs, doubling it over her calves.

"We need to keep her warm, she could go into shock," Luna said worriedly, and Neville thought for a brief moment on how he'd never seen Luna so serious in all his life. She ran her hand along Ginny's back experimentally, and Neville felt warmth steal through the sharp air around him.

"I'm trying to do a warming charm, but I can't get the space it covers much bigger than that," she said tiredly, and Neville leaned back against the warmth over Ginny, watching his foggy breath fade to normal. Luna snuggled back against him. His back and sides were wonderfully warm, and he could feel his nose unclog as his face tingled, blood rushing back in. Luna's cheeks had regained their pink, and he looked at Ginny, whose nose was red but was breathing deeply, peacefully.

"That was genius," he said gratefully, and the two enjoyed a few minutes before another howl, much closer, sounded, chased by two more. Luna's body went rigid, and her trembling started once more. Neville prayed in his head that Fleur was already apparating and on her way.

As though the world had read his mind, a loud crack sounded behind them, and the three howls came closer to inspect. An angry growl and some snarls were no more than fifty feet away, and he could hear them getting closer. In the pale silver of the moonlight, Neville felt his breath freeze again. Silver fur, gleaming as the muscle below it rippled, was passing through a gap in the trees. Another body, strangely human but heavily muscled, jet black fur shagging over the shoulders, was passing low to the ground, sniffing and pausing. A third trotted out, heading towards the stream, his snout and throat drenched in blood that shone against his thin white fur. Neville gulped and felt Luna shift beside him, trying to control her shaking, as the first two followed their alpha toward the water. Neville felt his nose itch and held back a sneeze, and the black one snarled at the other, snapping at his feet as they disappeared into the brush.

"Send up the sparks, that had to be Fleur," he whispered, and Luna raised her hand, concentrating, and red light, twinkling like embers in a fire, shot upward and turned to dust. Footsteps came swift from behind them, and suddenly a long mane of silvery hair was being pulled back as Fleur Weasley stepped into their hut.

Neville pulled the door closed hastily and fumbled, trying to make room, and Fleur lit the space with a tiny light.

"How eez she?" she asked quickly, and she set down a bag and pulled out a few blankets, which Neville spread under himself and Luna gratefully. Fleur flicked her wand and the rock behind them began to melt, then solidified again. Its surface shone bright, and Neville realized with a jolt she'd turned it to silver. _Wasn't that supposed to be impossible?_

"It will keep zem from bozzering us for awhile," she said, and then she turned to Ginny.

"I vant you both to get out ze bandages and ze water bottle- wash 'our hands," she instructed, and Neville and Luna washed the blood and dirt off their faces and hands and legs. Fleur expanded the warming charm, and the rest of the hut defrosted, turning a balmy sixty. Neville's fingers burned, and his feet felt like they were on fire. Luna took her wand as she checked Ginny, and vanished the water on the floor and the leaves, spreading the blankets out to take their place. Fleur hefted Ginny onto a blanket and poured water into her mouth, massaging her throat until she swallowed.

Shuffling sounded behind them, and the three turned as one. A thick furred wolf was reared, walking on strong, clawed feet, his snout quivering as he sniffed the air. Neville froze. Fleur crouched at the head of the hut, her wand raised, and Neville knew he had to help. He pulled a shaking Luna behind him, drawing the knife.

"We will not let 'im inside, and ze door ezz ze only place he can enter," Fleur whispered, silvery hair dancing in the light. The wolf walked closer, and his black eyes met Neville's above the door. Bloodlust shot through them, hitting him like a dragon, and Neville watched in horror as he threw back his head and howled, high and loud, and calls answered. His blood ran cold, as the wolf shot forward, bounding to their hiding spot, and snarled viciously. His teeth glinted, a startling white, and Neville could have sworn he was smiling.

The wolf started to circle their hut, drawing back further from the silver-speckled stone, and coming closer to the door, snarling every time. Neville smelt his dank, musty scent, saw the drool drip from his jowl and hit the dirt. The wolf was afraid of the silver, but he wanted his dinner. Fleur shifted beside him and a gold spell shot out, missing the wolf by an inch. He growled low and snapped against the door. Teeth and pink tongue flashed in front of Neville's eyes, and he slashed the knife across the snout, blood dripping onto his legs through the crack in the door.

A bark of pain hit his ears, and Fleur shot spell after spell at the werewolf, who was backing away, a long, jagged cut covering his snout and extending toward his throat. Neville looked at the knife streaked with crimson, and put it on the ground behind him. He felt dizzy.

When the wolf had gone, Fleur sat down heavily, shaking, and Luna curled her arms around her, rocking her. Tears ran down their faces. Neville was panting, looking at the knife in the corner. He handed it to Luna, who dropped it into a plastic bag Fleur conjured. Luna sealed it.

"If we don't get the hairs, Snape might accept this," she explained, and Fleur turned curious eyes on her as she began working on Ginny's hand again.

"I need ze dittany, it eez in ze pocket," she commanded, and Luna upended the bag hastily, handing her a shining red bottle. Fleur pour water over Ginny's hand and Ginny stirred as Fleur cleaned it, flicking her wand at the cuts. Another bottle was thrust into her hand by Luna, while Neville examined the ball of light that was glimmering at their ceiling, slowly losing power, and Fleur snapped her wand at it again, repowering it.

"She might be eenfected, but zis will help, I 'ope," Fleur said throatily. A tiny puff of purple steam escaped as the wound was cleaned, and then Fleur dropped six tiny drops of the dittany across the wound. Steam rose again, fogging up the air, and when Neville could see again, Ginny's hand was whole, new skin stretched across the deep rift. Fleur sent another warming charm around the hut and spread jelly like goop from her wand across the walls and ceiling, which solidified almost instantly. The cracks sealed in, and the light reflected off the yellow goop.

"Now we must wait," Fleur informed them heavily, and Neville thanked her softly. She nodded as Luna did the same, and pulled Ginny up onto a second blanket, recovering her and setting Ginny's head in her lap. "I vill do anyzing to protect my leetle sister," Fleur said quietly, and Neville put his hand on her shoulder. Ginny lay unconscious, her grey pallor faded to pale white.

Fleur winched her eyes together and Neville started, feeling his body lift up as the blankets thickened to a fluffy mattress.

"Ve may as well be comfortable," Fleur grinned. Luna giggled once and they were silent.

Hours passed in the stillness of the hut. Fleur had no thought to bring anything to eat, and Neville's stomach was growling in protest, along with Luna's. Ginny slept on, her breaths deep and long, and Neville wished he could fall asleep as well, and dream he was back in the Room with Hannah. She had to be worried sick right now.

He nudged Fleur, who was exhausted looking, and put out his hand.

"You two should get some sleep. I'll keep watch for awhile and wake you if anything happens," he offered, and Fleur handed over her white, silver-streaked wand, yawning and rolling over to lie next to Ginny.

"Let me know eef she eez awake," Fleur said, curling up. Neville turned his face to the door, recasting the warming charm. It was going to be a long night.

By six in the morning, it was still night, but the werewolves had not been heard for hours. Neville woke Fleur quietly.

"Do you know of any way to get acromantula hairs? It's what Snape wants us to get. If we don't, he's going to send us out again tomorrow," he said, and Fleur grew enraged.

"He will nevair send Geenny out like zis! She will be weak tomorrow, and you vould all be eaten alive!" she exclaimed hoarsely.

Neville nodded. "Do you think you can hold off anything that comes by while I take the wand and summon a few? I just need to find them and get three, I can use the charm to pluck them from fifty feet off," he pleaded.

Fleur looked at him, then scanned the slowly lightening horizon.

"Very well, but be quick and do not get caught," she said, handing over her wand. Neville transfigured two sticks into long swords for Luna and Fleur, should the need arise, and stood up, stretching his aching back, as he set out.

After two "Point Me" spells and a patronus to tell the girls where he was, Neville was deep into the Acromantulas' territory. He hadn't seen one yet, but it was only a matter of time, and he couldn't shake off the feeling that they were following him, waiting to snatch him up. Shaking his head, he reminded himself angrily that he'd hear something that big if it were following him. _Silly to spook myself, _he thought.

A wide clearing came into view, and Neville's jaw dropped. Close to thirty huge, hairy spiders were grouped around a small pond, all of them asleep. This was his chance.

He crouched down on the ground, aiming his wand through a bush at the nearest, who was fast asleep, deep, rhythmic breaths shaking his gargantuan body up and down. The eight legs twitched as one, and Neville flinched, wanting to run back. It was near sunlight, however, and he needed to get this done. Steeling himself, he muttered a faint, strong summoning spell, concentrating on the single hair he could discern from the others, a fine, thin line on the nearest leg. It zoomed to his hand silently, and he caught it and stuffed it into his sock. A second came just as easily, but on the third time, the creature moved, legs twitching after the hair was plucked. Its eyes blinked open as the hair zoomed to Neville, and it turned about.

Neville held his breath, perfectly still, for five minutes as the creature shifted, its eyes searching the area, passing over his bush. Finally it settled back into sleep, and Neville crept on sure footed feet back to the hut, the hairs scraping his foot as he stepped.

The sun rose, light pink spreading across the sky, and the moon was visible as a pale pink circle, fading in the light. He swung open the door. Ginny was sitting up, smiling at him.

"I got the hairs," he said proudly.

"YOU DID WHAT?!?!?!"

Neville grinned. Yes, he did have some explaining to do.


	22. Two Doe Racing

Thanks for the reviews! I want to clear up a few things, and I extend these explanations (which I hope will suffice!) to Tranquil Sonata and Spillgirl, with many thanks for the feedback- it was most appreciated!

I've had a few concerns over how quickly Ginny, Luna, and Neville seem to trust Draco. I understand the worries- but I promise, not everything is how it seems. Draco still has a long way to come in their eyes (not that he'll ever get there!). Luna seems naïve, but she's using that stereotype to her advantage once more. The feather is a first step to see if he takes it to Snape- Luna has pulled something similar to Hermione's jinxed DA list in fifth year. This side of the story will be expanded upon further- and trust me, you'll love the results!

As for the chapter with Remus, number 2, where he whines over the fact that Dumbledore kept him at Hogwarts to gather werewolf fur:

Remus is hurting, because his mentor is dead, and his second in command, Moody, is also gone. That's two quick blows. He will have read or heard what Rita Skeeter has been writing about Dumbledore, and Remus is _very_ prone to doubt. _I am not saying that Dumbledore expressed his sole reason for having Remus stay at Hogwarts was to collect werewolf hair-_ I am merely showing that Remus' weakness is his pessimism. Dumbledore finally admits in his last correspondence the thing he has kept from Remus- his collection of hair- but _Remus_ _assumes it must be the only reason Dumbledore took him on_. Remus thinks he is worthless. He overlooks the fact that Dumbledore did it because it allowed for humane hair-gathering and the creation of the wolfsbane, something that transformed the lives of werewolves everywhere for the better. Dumbledore is again acting for the greater good- and keeping his plans secret. It is his main flaw- something he expresses regret for to Harry in the last chapters of Deathly Hallows. I hope I did not offend anyone in my portrayal of Remus' negative _assumptions_. I promise this will come full-circle.

Does this help explain my actions? Anymore questions? Concerns?

Enjoy the ride!

Cheers,

Jenna

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22

Bill

His shoulders were achingly sore, and his wife was not yet home. It was really starting to get to him. He'd known she would need to be gone awhile, and with Fenrir likely on the grounds, he'd be a walking target, but did she have to stay half the morning too? He had only just gotten used to full moons in the last two cycles, and having her near calmed his inner beast. Remus had suggested as much, though it had taken two months for Bill to break down and let Fleur near him when he was antsy and feral. He knew she took a verbal beating those nights, but she had insisted she wanted to help him. She would not let him be alone.

Stabbing the sausages he'd cooked medium rare an hour earlier, he chewed slowly, savoring the flavor that burst over his tongue. Remus had neglected to warn him- or perchance, being bitten so long ago, he could not recall- that all sensations and stimuli became more pronounced when one becomes part animal. Bill's sense of smell, taste, and hearing had tripled in the first month, and they were growing keener still as he acclimated to the new abilities. Fleur's natural scent had nearly overpowered him the first time she'd walked past him while in the hospital. The sound of footsteps was magnified so he could hear her walking about outside Shell Cottage, pacing, when she was mad- even if she was a good forty feet from the house. Loud music was hell, and Bill had almost gone mad when the front door got a resilient squeak that would not budge from spells. He'd contemplated sealing it shut and adding a second door beside it before Fleur had found a charm that worked. _Or just blowing a hole in the wall._ Really, after twelve hours of ear-drum raking squeaks each time they entered or exited, he wasn't picky.

Their romance had taken on an entirely new meaning. Fleur's Veela blood meant she already had a more developed sense of touch, and now Bill knew exactly what she had meant when she said his fingers overwhelmed her mind. The slightest of caresses sent shivers up him like he was a third year all over again, feeling up a bird's chest for the first time. Her tongue was slick, soft velvet melting against his, and sex had become something they could get lost in for days, if they didn't pace themselves. Setting limits had been harder than talking the goblins into giving health care.

Bill's ears were alert for the noise of her approach, and he perked up, drawing his wand a second later, when he heard the gait of a taller individual approach Shell Cottage. No one could see it unless they had Veela or Weasley blood, and Muggles couldn't reach it, but still, these footsteps were not Remus' relaxed, long strides, nor his father's quick, short gait. It was now nine in the morning, and he'd been up over twenty-four hours; _who would call at this hour, without an emergency?_

The door was eased open and _Ron's red ears and flaming hair peeked inside._ Bill swallowed hard. _Harry must be in trouble_. He couldn't take chances, though, and he disarmed his brother with a swift flick, who raised his hands in surrender.

"What did Fred and George turn your stuffed owl into when you were little?" he asked.

Ron's eyebrows rose. "It was a teddy bear, and they spelled it to be a live spider," Ron returned, shuddering. Bill smiled and tugged his brother close, then reset the door ward. Not that he needed one, with his hearing.

Ron took his wand back and sat down at the table. "D'you mind if I eat some of these? I haven't had a decent meal in ages," he confessed shyly, and Bill was overcome with a sweep of nostalgia. What had happened to his little brother who gulped first and asked later?

"Sure, do you want some eggs and toast?" Bill offered, and Ron nodded happily and began loading his plate. Bill swished his wand and the bread box in the corner opened, a knife slicing four pieces which trotted over to the fireplace and flipped themselves occasionally over the dancing flames. The toast and the bowl of scrambled eggs from earlier levitated over to Ron's side, who had finished the sausages and was gulping down his second glass of milk.

"Thanks, Bill, I didn't know where else to go," he said gratefully, and Bill frowned.

"Do Mum and Dad know you're here?" he asked, and Ron's face went redder.

"You won't tell them, will you?"

"Of course not, if you don't want me to. It might mean they're safer," he said, flipping a chair around and sitting on it with his arms crossed over the back. He eyed his brother. Something was off.

"Where are Harry and Hermione?" he asked, and Ron paled.

"I . . . " Ron struggled, then cleared his throat. "I don't know," he admitted in a small voice. Bill exploded.

"_What do you mean, you don't know! _WHAT HAPPENED?"

"It- it was sort of an accident, Bill. I'm really sorry, I wish I could tell them too, but I couldn't find them this morning, and I couldn't get away last night, and now I think I've really fucked things up," Ron rushed out, nearly sobbing, and Bill held him by the shoulders and made Ron look at him.

"How did you get separated? You were at Grimmauld, right?"

Ron's eyes darkened. "Yeah, but then after the Ministry break-in, you heard 'bout that, right? Well, Hermione apparated us, but _Yaxley'd caught onto her arm_, and she took him into the boundary of the Fidelius. He's got the secret, he can get in now. So we had to leave. Hermione took us to some forest, but I got splinched," and here he pulled back a dirty sleeve to show a gouged out chunk of arm the size of a Grindylow head that made Bill gasp and drag his ragged sleeve up further to examine it.

"It's been cleaned well, alright, but you won't be getting it back, I'm sorry to say," Bill said sadly, but Ron waved it away like it was nothing.

"It was downright nasty at first, mostly because I bled a lot and then we didn't have anything to eat afterwards. We've spent a good month going from place to place every morning, scavenging for food, and living out of that tent Dad got for the Quidditch World Cup- you 'member, the one that smelled like cats?"

Bill nodded. His little brother was thinner than ever, he noticed, and his muscles stood out starkly from his arms. The baby fat had disappeared completely, leaving wirey sinew in its place.

"I screwed up," Ron said lowly, and he cupped his hands over his head.

"How did you screw up?" Bill asked softly, but he thought he knew the answer.

"We- we found something we were looking for, something _really_ important, and we had to keep it close to us, y'know, like, on our bodies- and it was a Dark object. We had to keep it safe. I was frustrated that Harry wasn't doing much- I mean, I thought he had a plan, we both did- Hermione and me- but it was just us running from place to place after the Ministry, arguing and getting starved. That- that _thing_- 'M sorry, Bill, I wish I could tell you what it was- it made me think things when I had to take it on. It kept whispering that I was . . . _worthless_, that no one ever wanted me. It said . . . horrible things about Mum and Harry and Hermione. It was like all the things I never really believed, things that had always bothered me but I'd pushed away, were crowding around in my head, and I was standing beside me, listening to the way I yelled at them and I couldn't stop myself. I just couldn't. Hermione and Harry got excited one night, and I was- was wearing it- and I just got so angry over how happy they looked, when we've still got so far to go- and I just broke. I said h-horrible th-things, Bill, I dunno how they'll forgive me- and Harry looked like he wanted to kill me, and Mione was crying, and I just- I just _left_."

Ron bowed his head. His shoulders shook once. Bill was aghast. He'd known his little brother had a low self esteem, but had it really been so bad he'd abandoned his friends? He loved Harry as his brother, Bill was sure- and he'd always suspected that Ron and Hermione were both deeply in love- and denial- with one another. Their bickering had proven it before his eyes. It was just like Mum and Dad, only Ron hadn't yet started to appease his girl like Dad did when Molly was in a fit.

"Why didn't you go back?" Bill inquired, trying not to frighten his brother, and Ron coughed once, heavy and deep, and looked at him with red rimmed eyes.

"I apparated right into a bunch of snatchers, Bill. They grabbed me and I made up a story, but I don't think they fell for it. I was downright terrified, thinking they'd figure out it was me and try to get where Harry and Hermione were. I don't think I'd tell anyone, even if- if they tortured me- but I was so upset I just wanted to get away and calm down. I grabbed a wand and apparated, but I splinched myself again," and at this, he held up the hand with ugly, red tissue where two fingernails should be, and Bill flinched.

"I do want to hear this, but I'm going to get some dittany," he interrupted gently, and he paced into the bathroom.

Merlin, he wished Fleur was here. He didn't know if he should be grateful that she wasn't, as she would have tucked into Ron worse than Ginny would later on- something Bill hoped fervently that Ron hadn't thought about yet in his fragile state- or if he should continue to hope she'd make it back in time to center him and help him decide what to do about Ron. He grabbed the dittany from the bathroom, listening to Ron's muffled, barely detectable sniffle in the other room. _Thank Godric he had these ears_. Ron was really beating himself up.

"So what happened then?" he questioned, and Ron glanced up, wincing as the dittany hit his fingers and steam rose up.

"I apparated back to the place they'd been, but I knew it was too late in the morning- past seven- and they would have already moved. I tried a few places we'd been before, y'know, just calling for them and trying to see if they'd revisited, maybe looking for me . . . I guess I was hoping they would be, but they weren't. I decided I had to come here," he disclosed miserably, and Bill felt the remaining anger in him melt away.

"I'm not going to say I'm not disappointed," Bill said calmly, "but you tried to set it right. I think that thing, whatever it was, did a great deal of the talking- and I believe once Harry and Hermione think about it, they'll realize it too. You would do well to remember that, Ron."

Ron shook his head glumly. "I was supposed to be there to save them. All I have to give is my loyalty- I'm not brave like Harry, I can't do intricate spells like Mione- and I failed at the one thing I could give."

Bill was silent, chewing over his words. He speared another sausage and popped it in to buy time. Fleur would have glared at him, one of her rare peeves, had she seen him stick it in his mouth whole. Bill smiled.

"Do you realize that in the last six years, you've entered the Chamber of Secrets to save your sister, fought Death Eaters twice and come out alive, stood up to a mass murderer to save your best friend, and sacrificed yourself to a giant queen at eleven to let Harry do his work?" he quizzed, and Ron's brow furrowed.

"Yeah, but I had help with a lot of that, Harry and Mione do all the hard stuff," he argued, and Bill smiled. "You forget how little other people would have done in your shoes," he answered.

"Not everyone would have had the courage to sacrifice themselves so much or to trust their friends with their lives. You've done both, Ron. And I think- no, I know- that you're a whole helluva lot stronger than you think. Have you ever wondered if being around Harry and Hermione makes you feel smaller than you are?" he asked, and Ron looked fiercely offended.

"Harry and Hermione are the closest people to me in the world. I don't care if Harry's a self-sacrificing fool sometimes or Mione bucks in her seat to answer a question. They've done nothing but l-love me," Ron declared, and his stubborn face was setting in.

"That's not what I was getting at. You've had a brother who was Head Boy and a Gringott's Curse Breaker; another who could have played professional quidditch but chose to tame dragons instead; the twins, who invented their own wealth and were incredibly popular, especially with the birds; Percy, who was Prefect, even if he was a prat; and then finally there's Harry, who's the Chosen One who Saves Every Bloody Person and Hermione, who brewed _bloody_ _polyjuice_ as a second year. Don't you think you're surrounded by some high expectations? You're only seventeen, Ron- you're going to make mistakes like anybody else. Hell, we all have- you just focus on yours more."

Ron was silent, and Bill picked up his dingy rucksack and carried it to the spare bedroom.

"You should take a hot shower, it'll let you relax," he called from the other room. A shuffle sounded behind him.

"I can stay?" came his brother's yearning voice.

Bill turned around.

"Until we figure out how to get you back to Harry and Hermione, you can stay as long as you need," he assured with a small smile. The soft, ocean blue of the walls set off Ron's hair and eyes, his broad shoulders evident through his pale green shirt, and Bill felt again the wistful yearning for the tyke who'd clutched at his trousers on summer vacations and begged for broom rides. "Just up to the apple twee," toddler Ron had beseeched with big blue eyes, and Bill had never been able to refuse.

"Just don't think Fleur won't give you a piece of her mind when I explain things to her later. She went to Hogwarts last night; Gin was in some trouble. She should be back soon. And I will be putting you to work while you're here," he grinned, trying not to wonder what was taking so long or if the delay was another sign that bad news was impending.

"She'll be ok, right? Ginny's not hurt?" Ron's anxiety was swift and tangible.

"I dunno yet, Ronnie. I hope Gin's fine, but something tells me this might be worse than we're wishing for. Fleur will protect her, though- she's a demon with her wand," he added, and Ron relaxed slightly, shucking his boots off. Bill vanished the mud that fell from the soles as Ron tossed his shirt on the bed and headed for the shower. Bill's nose was assaulted by body odor . . . _perhaps he'd wash some of Ron's things, too. _

When he came out to the kitchen, he was shocked to see Fleur's head of hair resting on the table, a conch shell in her palm. She turned it over, examining the smooth, cold sides, and Bill was beside her in a single movement and scooped her into his arms, kissing her fiercely.

"Merlin, I'm glad you're back," he whispered, holding her close. She felt cold, and he rubbed her arms, looking into her face. His wife looked exhausted.

"She eez ok, but zat was a 'orrible night," Fleur shuddered, and she spilled the events of the evening to her husband. Bill was silent, trying to take it all in, and he paused her only to clarify that they would not have to go into the forest again and Pomfrey had looked in on Ginny.

"She weel not have to go to classes today-she eez weak, but she weel recover," Fleur detailed, and Bill began to tell her about Ron's impromptu visit. It was a mark of the strength of their relationship that though Fleur's nostrils flared often and she grew flushed and deadly silent, (Bill knew she was extremely loyal to Harry,) she nodded when he asked her to leave Ron alone. He'd been punished enough already, and he hadn't meant to do it.

"Veery well, but he eez going to help us with ze 'ousework, and I weel want him to stay in ze wards," she acquiesced. Bill kissed her soundly in thanks and they forgot themselves, lost in deep sensation and their connection. A gruff voice cleared behind them.

"Er, sorry," a sheepish Ron apologized. "I just wanted to know how my sister is," he begged, and Fleur launched into a slightly edited version of her earlier account. Ron sat at the table, looking worn and worried, and then thanked Fleur and left, claiming he wanted to get some rest.

Fleur turned to her husband with a cautious look.

"Zere is somezing else I need to tell you," she acknowledged.

Bill eyed her hungrily. He wanted to get her alone as soon as she was done, feed her up on honey biscuits and some milk, and cuddle her up for an hour or two. Then he'd pounce and let out his wolf, and he'd make her moan and feel alive again. Soon, he cautioned himself, waiting for her to continue.

"Yes?" he asked.

"I do not know what zis means, but when I got to ze forest, anozzer doe patronus met me at ze edge. I theenk it had galloped past me and zen it came back when I got zere. It told me to come to ze forest, zat Ginny needed me, and zat she might die if I could not 'elp her," Fleur paused, and Bill's mind reeled. _A second doe?_

"It spoke wif ze voice of a man," she said throatily, and Bill's mouth closed.

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Thanks for reading! Reviews welcome and loved!


	23. Gate Crashing, Slytherin Style

Aww . . . many thanks to my reviewers- especially Purple Llama in a Cheese Hat- you made me grin. I'm flattered! You all keep me writing! Thanks also for the suggestion, Spillgirl, that I allow anonymous reviews- I hadn't even checked to see if it was available. This is my first fanfic, everyone- I'm still new to the scene, and I don't know a lot of stuff that could help me. Please feel free to give me suggestions!

Also, in the spirit of school starting up again (blahh!!!) I propose a contest:

Give me a Neville/Hannah moment for winter or spring that really gives me a belly-laugh- it can be short, a single sentence even, and I'll find a way to write it in- even if it means creating a whole extra chapter for it. I'd love to see something that could really brighten up their spring quarter- it's gonna get ugly very fast!

We're one third done with the story- I have over 60 chapters planned, and yes, I do go past DH into a bit of post "Harry: Gee, I want a sandwich!" moments. There will be a bit more closure with this version- especially for Ginny and Harry, and Neville!

Cheers,

Jenna

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23

Susan

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There were three moments in her life that she could qualify as out-of-body experiences. Hogwarts, she had always felt, was deeply magical, but lacked the spiritual aspect of connecting to ones' magic in it's curriculum. It was all well and good to have a ball or a Quidditch game on the side, but what Susan craved was the tranquil peace of a group of close friends who could sit and just enjoy each other's presence. Surrounded by book-hooked Ravenclaws for years bemoaning their "E" on their last potions essay, she had gained a bit of a grudge against her peers for failing to put things in perspective._ How could they get worked up over who was dating who and what hair styles were in witch weekly, when people were dying and they weren't able to focus on their skills?_ It was days like this she missed sitting with her father in the wilds of the moor behind her house, just smelling the wetness and focusing on the magic that ran through her body. It was like electricity; she could channel it into her arms, feel it flood into her feet, and on rare occasions, levitate without a wand, inches above the peat moss. Though Susan had never believed in Luna's wrackspurts, she liked the concept: witches and wizards today moved too fast, rushing into marriages and higher paying jobs and their next foray with equal parts passion and ignorance. What had happened to just living, enjoying your time?

Not that she was lazy. Far from it. Susan knew, though she had been brought up to be modest, that she was naturally popular from her pretty face and her raw power. Spells she cast always had to be controlled at first, and it had been a struggle to gauge how much magic she should let out to have the pumpkin swell but not turn into a house in third year. From then on, she'd realized that where others had to push to get results, she had to struggle to hold back the tide. It was something beautiful, feeling that surge as her power left her, flowing into something else- and the connection she could feel between the objects she sent spells to and her own body was tangible, almost shimmering in the air. Sometimes, it took her breath away. Magic was . . . well, _magic_.

There had been three instances, however, where she'd done something that blew _herself_ away. Times when she'd been able to sense magic as it was happening. This was not the simple case that perhaps across the room or down the hall, her mother was cooking and a tingle would run down her as the spells, distant but palpable, met her body in the air. These were instances where the feel of magic, the overwhelming sensation of her own body- heart, lungs, blood, muscles- responding to the magic- filled her, and she could hardly breathe for being connected to the magic that bound her to Earth.

The oldest instance was when her little sister had performed her first bit of magic, out in the lawn, and Susan had felt and seen, as though she were standing right beside her, the twig that was whirling on the lawn as her sister clapped. She'd felt the twig were inside her, a miniature world in her lungs where a tiny figure jumped up and down, gingham dress bouncing, as the branch dangled in midair. Tingles shot through her whole body. She was with her mother in Diagon Alley, over fifty miles away.

The second had been when her father had died last year. Susan remembered the pain that had shattered her body, magic spilling into her bones and shaking her, and she'd known, somehow, understood without even thinking it, that a killing curse had been cast, and it had met its mark. The day had been darkness, and she had existed for a few minutes outside her own body, wanting to scream and cry, and unable to move her eyes to produce tears- fling herself away from the calm, cool, violating bathroom, where she'd been washing her hands. Even her mother shaking her had done nothing to bring her back to her body. Her magic had cast her out.

This time was peculiar. She was at school, where she assumed there was so much magical frequency that any radar she might have to pick up those kinds of spiritual vibratum would be nullified. How could she discern a single magical being, a distinct spell being cast, out of the hundreds of students who sat beside her, lived in these walls, practiced their magic? Her body was throwing her out again, and though her physical self remained in the Room, her spirit had run to the door, terrified at what was about to come. _Slytherins had found their Headquarters._

Susan was frozen, her hair flung down her back, tickling the backs of her knees, though she could not feel them. Her hand was raised, her wand drawn at the door, as she'd been about to warn the others before her magic had intervened. Her mouth had dropped, and had the situation not been so serious, she would have found her expression incredibly funny and unflattering. _Ah well._ The boys still fancied her anyway, though only Merlin knew why.

Three figures had approached before her magic kicked in, and one had handed a note to the other two, who were reading it, brows furrowed in concentration. Susan felt rage fly through her. _The bitch had sold them out. Snape was going to kill them all. _

_Crash! _Screams rung out as the door opened and the talking students fell unnaturally silent, then attacked- and before Susan had come back to her own body, feeling the heat of her own fingers as her soul realigned, all hell had broken loose.

Augustine Lestrange, Astoria Greengrass, and Hannah Abbott were hogtied. There was no other word for it. Ginny Weasley had leapt over the balcony, injured body be damned, her wand ripping through the air in a violent impedimentia that had thrown all three back into the wall. Fifty others set upon them, disarming and stupefying the lot. Astoria had sprouted tentacles and was a lovely orange color, and Lestrange was sporting five sets of silvery ropes and his clothes had somehow vanished. Hannah looked the worst, though- Ernie himself had thrown a conjunctivus curse at her just as Demelza let out a feral growl and Hannah's eyebrows had puffed to five times their size. Her handlebar moustache that accompanied it was overshadowed, however, by poor Neville's hurt, disbelieving stance. Susan steadied herself, magic pulsing as shield and sword within her, and she threw up her arms, calling a ceasefire.

"FOR THE LOVE OF MERLIN, STOP!" she cried, and the beastly throng around her seemed to recall they were human. Revenge and fear shone on every face, and Michael Corner was balancing on Anthony's shoulders behind her, checking the time figures on the Map above.

"Snape's in his office, Alecto and Amycus patrolling on fourth and the Astronomy Tower, Pansy and Company in the dungeons," he rattled off, and a collective sigh went about the room.

Seamus walked up to Hannah's unconscious, bound figure and kicked her, hard. Neville seemed to come back to himself.

"DON'T YOU DARE TOUCH HER, FINNEGAN!" He yelled hoarsely, and for a moment, it looked like fists might fly. Susan stepped between them.

"Why not, 'eh? The little bitch sold us out!" he screamed.

"We don't know that yet, and until we question them all, she's still a member of our Army, and our Secret Keeper to boot!" Neville flung back, unbinding Hannah, spit flying from his mouth. Susan wiped her cheek. _Eww._

"Tony, get Mike off your shoulders, you're going to kill each other. Ginny, lower your wand, you're going to take someone's eye out," Susan yelled. "I want ANYONE who's not an officer to clear out NOW- NO EXCEPTIONS! Get back to your dorms, we'll contact you by coin later! Password will be reset to Dilligrout for the door! No one is to come back in this Room until we've deemed it safe!"

Grumbling students crowded around her, and Susan was near snarling. "I SAID NOW! DON'T MAKE ME HEX YOU ALL!" And suddenly, the younger ones were scurrying, bookbags and cloaks and robes were flying off couches and out of the kitchen, and the doors to the dormitories were packed with rushing, anxious fifth years, who were pulling their dueling teams out, looking behind themselves at Susan's incensed, glowering face. She tapped her wand threatening against her palm as Neville levitated Hannah into the meeting room, and the last of the bunch practically threw the others out the doors in their haste. Silence fell thick like smoke.

"We've got a patrol on the Carrows and Snape, right?" Lavender posed.

"Yes. Fifth year Ravenclaws and Sixth year Hufflepuffs on Git Detail. Quentin's got Snape, Romilda has the Main Door covered, and what's-her-name- erm, Georgia, is her second," Padma reported.

"Tony, notify them all by coin that they're not to come to the Room unless it's an emergency. We have a possible security breach. Have them call up their seconds to double the patrols," Neville ordered, and the officers looked to the three prisoners. Seamus coughed.

"What should we do with these two?" he said gruffly, looking like he was contemplating adding some more tentacles to less mentionable places on Greengrass.

"Bring them in the meeting room, keep them bound- and Ernie, you get rid of those hex marks- We don't know if they're even Greengrass and Lestrange. It could be ours, just in polyjuice," she warned, though she seriously doubted it. _If Hannah had gone over, why would she bring them in during their last meeting of the quarter_, Susan puzzled. _Why bring just two? What could they have accomplished?_

Neville had lowered Hannah's limp form onto a chair and was glaring at Ginny as she rewound ropes over her hands and legs. The other two received similar treatment, and Susan took a headcount. Mike, Tony, and Terry, Padma and Parvati, Lavender, Seamus, Yulang, Abbey, Demelza, Ernie, Neville, Ginny, herself and . . . Luna. No Luna. Susan sent a quick message to three of the sixth years and asked them to stand guard in the Room and watch the Map while they unraveled whatever this conundrum meant.

She heard Hannah sigh behind her, a tiny, birdlike noise, and watched her eyes drift open, then go as big as saucers. Neville looked like he was stuck between wanting to kill her and cry.

"What is the meaning of this?" Susan asked her lowly, gesturing to the two now tentacle-less Slytherins.

"Whaa? Luna told me we were letting them in, they're new recruits. Astoria's been helped her for weeks now- that's where she got the hairs for Mission Greasy-Haired-Git," she said witheringly. Hannah was looking at Neville, utterly confused, who was avoiding her eyes and kept rubbing his temples.

"So you thought it would be a good idea to bring a couple of Slytherins to a meeting without warning? Just march them in here and we'd all sing 'I Wanna Hold Your Hand' for them?" Susan growled, feeling her patience wane. This was most definitely Hannah, not an imposter, but did she really think that pathetic excuse was going to suffice?

"Luna and I gave them Veritaserum yesterday. She questioned them and I watched. If they'd said anything that meant they weren't honestly going to help us, we'd have modified their memories and sent them out. She- she said she'd tell you all," Hannah said weakly, and Susan slapped her hands to her face as Michael groaned. Neville was nearly shaking with emotion and refused to meet Hannah's tear-filled eyes. She let out a pained whimper and the vein in Neville's neck throbbed. His eyes Hannah's and Susan saw doubt coiling in them.

"Hannah, we want to believe you, really, we do," Ginny said softly, and Susan looked up sharply. It seemed the lioness had been subdued, and gentle Gin was in her place. "But we don't have anything but your word to prove that's what happened, Luna's not here- and we don't know where she is right now," she added. Her eyes drifted to Neville's wand, which was still aimed at her.

Hannah put her head down and began to cry in earnest. She lifted red-streaked cheeks and gestured to the two Slytherins, who had been enervated and were watching the proceedings with tacit, wary eyes. Seamus scowled.

"You'll forgive us if we don't feel like takin' the word o' two snakes," he spat. Hannah looked desolate.

"Hannah-banana," Neville said softly, and the room was filled with chuckles. Susan was impressed- he didn't even blush. "Can I look in your mind and confirm it? I've been studying with Remus at night, you know," Neville asked, barely a whisper. Hannah looked around the room and nodded, closing her eyes.

Neville aimed his wand at her head. Hannah flinched a bit and her eyes squeaked open.

"It doesn't hurt, right?" She voiced nervously, and Neville shook his head and began to concentrate.

Ten minutes passed, and the room was frozen, Seamus fidgeting and Susan glancing from face to face, all of them riveted on Neville's scrunched one.

Finally he let out a sigh, and Susan saw the occupants visibly relax.

"She's telling the truth, Luna was supposed to talk to us all and tell us. I watched the interrogation- they covered everything I could think of and then some," he informed, and Ginny stripped Hannah's ropes off. Susan walked to Astoria and looked her straight in the eye.

"I'm not going to lie and say I'm fine with this- I don't think any of us are- we've been enemies too long. But I want you to know I'm going to try," she said, extending her hand as her wand severed the cords.

Astoria's green eyes met hers, and she seemed to be choosing her words carefully.

"I'm not your enemy. Your enemy is my enemy- they are the ones who bully the little kids, the people who kill for ideas, my greedy parents who think just because I'm a girl, all I should do is marry a pureblood and have some brats. I don't know you," she declared, and the room held its breath, "but I do know I want this ridiculous war to end, and I want the Dark Lord done with. I want to be able to live how I want," she finished. She crossed her arms and did not shake Susan's hand.

Lestrange nodded, and Ernie let out a nasty snigger.

"Hold your tongue," Lestrange lashed out. "You've been fighting all this term, but you don't even know what you're fighting for. Aren't you lot supposed to be the ones who hate prejudice? You've decided right where I fit before you've ever spoken to me," he glared, and Ernie's face flamed scarlet.

Silence reigned. Susan could feel the atmosphere tweaking. They stood at a giant precipice; below lay the unknown, dark and desired, and they were standing atop a cliff, gazing into the ravine, wondering if they dared to drop. _Slytherins in the DA?_ It was if they were all tucked into their minds, battling with every instinct to self-protect the last six years had drummed into them, and each were afraid to be first to take the dive.

"We're honored to have you working with us," Susan said softly, and the raised hackles lowered around the room. Ginny sashayed out, looking like the change had unhinged her regard for subtlety, dragging a still-shaken Hannah and a guarded Astoria, claiming they'd get some drinks for everyone. Lestrange jumped up as though he expected to be lynched if he stayed sitting, and began to inspect the meeting room.

"Can someone fill me in?" he asked politely, though his voice sounded partly-swallowed, and Susan swept to his side. _At least she could have some manners_, she thought bemusedly.

"We have three levels of officers," she said, leading him out to the common room. "This group, plus Luna, are our highest- the leaders of the teams and those who plan and execute missions. Fifth years can help us with jailbreaks, espionage, and mentoring younger students, but they cannot be in the meeting room where we keep supplies and strategy information. Third and Fourth years can join, but they are on detail duty- they cannot recruit or run missions. They are permitted to paint graffiti so long as they have a fifth year to captain them. They are also each assigned to a fifth year for dueling practice- that's in our training room, over here," she said, and Lestrange opened the door. The room was still identical to the Hogwarts fourth floor from yesterday's practice, and Lestrange let out a gasp as Susan pulled the levers, demonstrating the dummies they had.

"So you can make it be anywhere?" he asked, awed.

"Yep," she beamed proudly. "That's all down to Neville- and we have dueling tournaments every week. Practices are scheduled ahead of time on the sign-up sheet outside, but each team has to have at least two hour-long practices per week," she informed him.

"Next, we have the infirmary. We've had to patch up a lot of students this year, so it made sense to have somewhere to do it. Each House has one or more resident healers- Hannah and Ernie are Hufflepuff's, Ginny is Gryffindor's, and I am Ravenclaw's. Hannah is our Secret Keeper, and Neville is Leader. Each House has a Liason, to handle in-house disagreements, recruiting, and protection- they prepare their House's evacuation arrangement. I'm Ravenclaw's. Ginny has Gryffindor. Ernie has Hufflepuff. Demelza handles graffiti design and teams, Abbey and Yulang are our physical trainers for morning practices, and Seamus, Terry, Michael and Padma are our jailbreakers. Parvati is our new patrol coordinator. Lavender handles uniforms- we'll get you one tonight, I promise," she assured, and Lestrange's eyebrows hit the roof. Susan giggled.

"You'll have the first green sashes and masks," she said thoughtfully, and Lestrange grinned wide.

As she prattled about the Missions and Luna's purple kitchen, a funny feeling stole into her gut. She was joking with the cousin of the men who'd killed her aunt and her father. Somehow, though she'd always known him in school as the Boy Who Was Related To Her Father's Murderer, seeing him laugh and tease now, his shoulders relaxed and his eyes taking the room in hungrily, she couldn't help but feel relieved. A weight had been lifted from her, disappeared as they chatted, discovering they had all the same classes and both felt Divination was fascinating, but worthless as a class. Augustine was shocked to see the kitchen, and he ran over to Astoria, who was giggling beside a butterbeer-drunk Ginny, her bare feet up on the table.

"You ever heard the 'Odo the Hero' song?" she was asking Astoria, and Hannah was chortling, her face growing redder and redder with her hiccups. Emerald green toenails tapped on the floor. _Oh, Godric. They were drunk. And off butterbeer. Had the world really turned upside down when they'd let Slytherins in?_

"Tori, they have a hospital!" Augustine was exclaiming, and Astoria nodded. "I can't wait to duel these two- we gotta show them why we Slytherins always get away!" she cheered, and Hannah let out a carrying hiccup.

"Good luck facing GinGin the Ginger here," she gestured. Ginny didn't even abuse her for the nickname that on any other occasion would have led to flying bogeys. The boys gathered around them, and Susan almost swallowed her own tongue when an embarrassed Ernie offered Augustine and Astoria some Christmas punch Neville had got from the cooler, asking if they'd join him in a toast. _He must be sloshed, or being blackmailed,_ Susan thought blithely.

"I'd like to say something to our new and most honorable members," Ernie's pompous tone rang out, and the officers drew together. Only Seamus seemed to be holding his liquor, or whatever it was they'd broken out while Augustine had been given his tour. Susan rolled her eyes at Ginny, who burst into pealing laughter. Honestly, would Ernie never pass up the chance for decorum?

"A toast: to the old DA lags, who built this army from a bunch of rag-tag students, the new soldiers, ready to fight and win, our next adventure into recruiting Slytherins under Moldy-Shorts' nose," he opined with gusto, and Augustine snorted green, fizzy punch out of his nose, "and finally, to our children," he paused, and the officers glanced at one another, baffled.

"To the children some of us may never have, should we perish in this war, and the little ones who _will_ be there one day, living in a world better than our own," he ended softly, and Susan's eyes stung with tears. She thought of her sister and her mother, hiding at home, missing her father, and of her best of dreams, the ones filled with a dark, handsome wizard cuddling her while three tiny boys ran about the house, upsetting the fish bowl and giggling and hugging her through her skirt.

Glasses were lifted and crystal taps rang out as glasses touched reverently. Susan felt her heart drop as Neville tried to hug Hannah and she bent low, pulling herself out of his arm with a hurt look on her face. Apparently things were not all well though Neville now knew Hannah had not betrayed them.

The boys had begun to swagger and goof, asking Lestrange gruffly what his favorite quidditch team was while Susan found him a coin and a medic bag. They were running low. Each member had a tiny bottle of precious dittany, some burn cream in a little jar, a single sheet of "Goodey's Best Gauze" that multiplied on command to cover any injury, an assortment of Skiving Snackbox pills, and pain potion, all folded into a black fabric pocket Lavender had designed. The pockets could be charmed to hide in their robes, feather-light and undetectable, in case of emergencies. Tony was pulling two coins from his storage space in the filing cabinet, and Susan watched proudly as he pressed one on Augustine, shaking his hand.

Quentin and Romilda flew into the room and wands were instantly at their throats. Susan chuckled and put hers down.

"Guess we've just had one of those days," she apologized, but the two still looked wild and scared.

"What's happened?" Neville asked sharply.

Romilda caught her breath.

"Dolohov and Yaxley are in Hogwarts," she panted. "They've taken Luna."

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I know, I know, I keep throwing these cliffhangers at you- but never fear, we know Luna is safe! I realize DH canon has Luna taken on the train, but I figure, they're boarding the train tomorrow- it's the same timeframe. Next chapter up: Tonks, A Weasley Family Christmas.


	24. A Weasley Family Christmas

Thanks again for reviews and suggestions! I moved in to a new apartment for the school year, thus the delay. Chapters will be posted a bit less frequently than my daily-updates. This chapter is a bright spot before the storm, trust me. Enjoy it while it lasts- just like the detention in the Forbidden Forest was underplayed in DH, there's something hiding in Christmas Holidays. Just a warning- it's gonna get ugly for Ginny.

I'd like to know if anyone else was disappointed by the movie-Ginny during Number 6. Book-Ginny would never have let Dean push her around to the point of crying, and I hated the fact that she wasn't funny and boisterous around Harry- she's meant to be a fireball. Instead, we saw a fizzle. And I am disgusted by their first kiss- the privacy of the Room, Ginny going first, instead of the madness of the whole Gryffindor tower post-Cup, and Harry just going for it? They couldn't have butchered it more if they'd tried. Not to mention the extra battle-that-never-existed at the Burrow. I was severely disappointed. It was too obvious they just wanted another battle-scene thrown in because they had to sell tickets.

Enough of my banter. Enjoy!

Cheers,

Jenna

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24

Tonks

_It really wasn't fair that when you were knocked up, you couldn't drink. You should be able to celebrate having your little polka-dotted werepup, but no, somebody-important-who-decided-things-a-long-time-ago just HAD to ruin my fun,_ Tonks thought to herself as she eyed Ginny's eggnog, practically drooling with envy. She'd had 6 months without alcohol, and it was staring to wear. No sushi either- though the lack of good booze was considerably more depressing. Wasn't this supposed to be the most exciting time of her life? Not that it wasn't. A war did tend to liven things up, and being recently married and then immediately sprogged up did count for something. It was just that in the past few months, there had been numerous occasions that Tonks felt would have called for a toast or a nightcap or a good, relaxing beer, courtesy of Sirius, had he been around to talk her into it. She'd taken to drinking with him and Remus in her first year in the Order, and it was a sorely missed tradition, one she knew, if she were honest with herself, would likely never be reinstated now that Sirius was gone. And who was she to try to start it, when she was pregnant and couldn't even take a sip? Between Molly handing her pumpkin juice with a knowing grin and asking her if her "happy hormones" had kicked in yet, her mother coming over to "do the dishes" so she wouldn't "overexert herself in her condition," and Remus sticking to her like a little wart plaster, watching for any possible baby-breaking behavior, Tonks felt like she'd just as well encase herself in a giant protective bubble charm and sit until the baby came.

Honestly, if the others hadn't known she was capable of regrowing her hair in seconds, she would have been tearing it out just to make her point. As it was, she and Remus were wearing matching red and green jumpers and black slacks, and Tonks had artfully ripped her trousers and put red tights on underneath. Her green and red stripped socks were hanging out three inches below the cut-offs, and her black combat boots had been spruced up for the holidays with red and green shoelaces. She'd taken a pair of red Christmas lights and strung them up as earrings, and her hair was a mix of silver and green, though Remus had been teasing her for not making it a gold and red, as he'd suggested. She was as festive as could be, yet somehow, things still felt a bit tense. Maybe it was the fact that those happy hormones Molly had teased her about HAD kicked in, three weeks ago, to be precise- and since the minute they did, all she wanted to do was lock Remus in their bedroom and shag. All day, all night- with maybe a bathroom break or a trip to kitchen to load up on snacks, before they got back to business. Yes. Peanut butter pickle sandwiches, and eggnog- no, wait, she couldn't drink it, dammit- and boiled eggs with lots of ketchup, and a bowl of peaches with black pepper all over them. MMMMmm, yes, that would hit the spot post-shag. And maybe some pretzels. Oh Godric, yes, pretzels. With licorice.

Ginny had outdone herself this year, though Tonks was more than certain her decorating efforts were done with two things in mind: first, to distract Molly from questioning her about school, and second, to cover up her fears that a certain green-eyed boy would not be making it to the Burrow Christmas Eve. It was eleven in the evening, dinner had been a ridiculous affair of plate after plate and fifteen different dishes, overwhelming even for Tonks, whom Remus joked was eating for three. The hippogriff, he said, counted double. Tonks had kicked him under the table and opined, "Oh, well, at least you didn't think I counted double," in a sickly sweet sarcastic voice that had Remus quivering and looking at her in mock fear.

Fred and George had donned matching red and green striped cloaks and were whizzing about the living room, trying out their new invention- _Inchers_. The cloaks allowed them to blink and move their bodies a step away, without having to walk- it was as though the two were making mini-apparitions all over the living room, but much faster, so that watchers quickly got dizzy.

Molly handed Tonks some Treacle Tart for pudding and a glass of milk, and summoned some forks from the kitchen, which flicked towards those sitting with their chosen treats. Arthur, Molly, Charlie, Remus, Tonks, Ginny, the Twins, Kingsley, Lee Jordan and Andromeda were all crowded into the living and dining rooms, and Arthur, Remus, and Kingsley were having a quiet, rushed meeting over some parchments they were trying to hide from Molly's watchful eyes. Brandy glasses sat in the light, the low amber liquid shining. Molly had insisted that no one discuss Order business or work on the Holiday, and as all of them would be back for Christmas morning, it seemed prudent to obey her wishes. No one wanted to miss her breakfast.

Tonks whistled and Remus immediately rolled up the scroll, banishing it just as Molly came back with his hot chocolate and fresh brandy for the men. Andromeda was curled in the armchair next to Tonks, her tea steaming as she gazed out into the snow beyond the window. Tonks knew what her mother was thinking about, since she'd spent much of the night fixed on it as well, when she wasn't trying to figure out how to steal Remus away without the entire room knowing exactly why they were leaving. Her father was out there somewhere, in the middle of this blizzard, and neither of them knew where or if he was warm and fed, or even if he was alive, really. Was he happy? Did he miss them too? Was he wondering, right now, how his girls were doing?

Tonks had already cried at least four times today, worrying over her father, and she would not let these blasted pregnancy hormones get her to sob again. She patted her mother on the back, not wanting to bring it up- again- and make her feel uncomfortable.

"Is anyone up for cards?" Fred was asking with an innocent, polite smile. Tonks bounced up, dragging Remus from the safety of his armchair.

"We are! All three of us!" she declared, and then smirked when Remus quietly whispered, "Four, remember? Our little hippogriff counts as two," and she grinned and kissed him long and hard. George wolf-whistled and Tonks caught her mother's happy, easy smile before they followed the Twins into the dining room.

A set of purple playing cards were smoking on the table, and Tonks raised her wand to put them out before Fred's hand stopped her.

"They'll explode- I wouldn't try it," he warned, and Tonks shrugged, sitting down on a chair next to Ginny, who had been fake-cheery all night. Tonks nudged her and Ginny beamed, and Tonks felt her heart swell. The poor girl really was trying to put on a happy face. She was wearing a deep green dress that had a very low back and six little straps over the shoulders, and Tonks knew without thinking that it would match Harry's eyes perfectly. She said a silent prayer, hoping that wherever the terrific trio were, they were warm and safe, and hopefully full of turkey. Or pretzels. Or tuna. Or peaches.

"Thanks for the baby muter, by the way- that's a clever tool you two thought up," she chuckled to Fred, and George grinned. "We don't want it so you can't hear the little tyke howl- we just don't want your eardrums burst when they're real miffed," he said, and Ginny rolled her eyes. "But then what happens if you forget to turn off the muter, and the baby's in danger or sick but you can't hear it?"

"We've got that covered, sis- charm only lasts fifteen minutes before you have to reset it. And there's a warning about proper use on the box," he smiled, tapping the side of his nose.

Fred shuffled the cooled cards, and Ginny propped herself up on her elbows. Tonks changed into a picture she'd seen once in Dad's books of the famous gangster, Al Capone, and held out her hand for her cards. Fred was startled, seeing the thick lips and dark eyes, or perhaps it was the sight of a pregnant man, and Remus set to laughing hilariously, bending over. He seemed to be the only one who'd gotten her joke.

Tonks morphed back to herself and checked her stomach. Yep, the little one loved it when she morphed. So long as she left her belly as it was, she could do just about anything else. She wondered if it tickled. The little hippogriff kicked inside her, and warmth filled her up. _Soon, little one_, she cooed to herself.

After twenty minutes of card throwing and picking from another two decks, and trying to get three pairs or four pairs, Tonks had concluded that Fred and George were somehow cheating, as they had won each round of poker. Were the cards charmed to recognize them and change? It wasn't until the eighth round, when Fred produced six aces, when he could only have five cards, that the jig was officially up and Ginny threw herself at her brother, demanding he return her pilfered chips.

"That was all my Christmas money, you dolt, and don't think for a minute you're getting away with it," she threatened, and Fred lunged past her, trying to get out the door. A shriek and several thumps followed, and Fred was on the ground, bound, circled by a blur of thirty bat-bogeys, and George solemnly stepped forward and handed Fred's whole pile to a steely Ginny.

"Rematch?" he said hopefully, and the room burst into laughter.

"No, but I'll give you back your start-up if you show me how the cards work," she smiled mischievously, and George grinned and flipped her a card.

"Think 'mischief managed'," he instructed, and Ginny's eyes went wide as the card's face added four faintly glowing symbols by the bottom. A club, a heart, a diamond, and a spade were visible, and Ginny touched one lightly, watching as it prompted her to pick "numbers or face cards". Next, Tonks pressed "numbers", and watched in awe as the card gave her a choice from two to ten. Fred whimpered from the ground quite femininely.

"This is fantastic, George," Tonks said in awe, hitting the arrow that allowed her to go back and change her card to another number. When she was done, she hit the red circle at the top as George instructed, and the card glowed again ever so faintly before the "options" listed for changing it faded into the card.

"Guaranteed win every time. We could make more money off these little beauties than the shop, if we wanted to get ourselves killed by some high-end gamblers," George joked, and Remus drew him into explaining the magic behind the cards. Tonks heard Molly drawing her mother into conversation in the other room, asking if she had planned anything special for when her first grandchild came into the world. Andromeda's calm, melodic voice drifted out into the dining room where the twins were now showing an enthused Charlie their new cards. _Only those two could make a sale on Christmas, and to a family member to boot,_ Tonks chuckled. The Hippogriff shifted, apparently liking the way her belly moved.

Fred looked at the clock as it hit half til midnight, and sighed. "Kingsley, we need to head over to the next spot, Lee'll be waiting," he called out to the living room occupants, and Kingsley nodded and threw back his head, draining his brandy glass in a toast with Arthur. Molly offered him some leftovers packed in a tin. George and Fred had gathered their travelling cloaks, and Kingsley was already out the door, walking to the apparition point. Ginny was arguing with her mother about the security of going to watch a Potterwatch broadcast live.

"But MUUUM, I have to go back to that horrid school soon- and for the other students, it'd be a real treat to hear what goes on behind the scenes! Plus, it's my own brothers- I have to support them! Anyway, Tonks told me they haven't been 'interrupted' by Death Eaters for the last three broadcasts in a row! I'll be perfectly safe!"

"Don't try that with me, young lady. You would not be perfectly safe. Neither are Fred or George, but I can't stop them now they're of age. You, however, will be listening to me and you will stop this foolish argument at once. It's dangerous- they've been attacked before, and do you really want your brothers to be distracted, trying to make sure you're safe when that does happen?" Molly was getting into her best posture for prolonged confrontations, and Tonks saw Ginny's shoulders sag a bit as she took in her mother's dead-set tone.

"You know I can defend myself, Mum. You dueled me two days ago to see how I was doing and you said yourself I could match you. Mum, please- I can't miss this chance! Potterwatch gives us so much hope at school, and I'm so proud it's my own brothers! Please, they'll apparate me in, and at the first sign of trouble, George can take me back home! I'll only be gone an hour!" Ginny pleaded, but Molly wasn't giving in. She'd sent a killing look at Tonks at the mention of the last three Potterwatch broadcasts going smoothly, however, and Tonks was grateful when Remus stepped in on Ginny's side, since Tonks didn't dare do so herself after receiving that glare.

"Molly, what if I take Ginny there and stand guard with them? I can be the one to bring her back if anything happens, so the boys can finish their broadcast if needs be. She's had such a difficult term," Remus coerced gently, and Tonks could see Molly wavering, looking from the hopeful eyes of her daughter to Remus' steady, calm ones. Arthur nodded from his corner, and Molly's eyes flicked forward. "Alright, young lady. You may stay for one hour and one hour only- and when the broadcast is over, you're to come straight home and go up to bed. I don't want you to leave Remus' side, do you understand me?"

Tonks thought she sounded like Ginny was all of six years old, but whether she realized this or not, Ginny was still beaming, and had thrown her arms around her mother, then her father, who patted her back.

"Just be safe, Gin Gin," Arthur whispered, and Tonks put on her cloak to go with them.

"And just what do you think you're doing?!" Molly's voice came from the hallway to the kitchen. Tonks turned with Ginny, both of their faces confused.

"You can't go into that broadcast with a baby coming! If you were attacked you might go into labor!" Molly cried, and Remus looked at her questioningly.

"Now Molly, Dora can make up her own mind," he said thoughtfully, and Tonks sighed happily and fastened the clip on her cloak.

"But I do hope she'll keep all the possible consequences in mind when she makes that decision," he finished, smiling cheekily, and Tonks wanted to slap him so hard. Why, oh why, was she suddenly made of porcelain? Feeling like it might not be prudent to throw the tantrum she truly wanted to, she settled for huffing unhappily, throwing a glare at Remus and then her mother, though she didn't know why Andromeda annoyed her at this moment, and stomping loudly to her chair, before realizing she had to use the bathroom. Again. Why couldn't the little one just stop bouncing around?

Remus had followed her, and she felt warm, nimble fingers trace over her belly, his wide hands palming over her, holding her to him. "I'm sorry, I wish this were easier," he said softly, his deep voice a balm on her caged spirit. "Just wait. When the baby comes, you'll be Auror Tonks and I'll be our stay-at-home werewolf," he chuckled, and Tonks turned in his arms and smiled into his jumper, rubbing her face into his shoulder. Her belly was so big now it was hard to hug closely.

"I'd like having you cook," she said quietly. Then she frowned. "Actually, you already do, so I guess I'd just like to feel less guilty about you being the cook," and Remus laughed.

"Be safe," she said, kissing him in the dark of the hallway, and Remus turned and was gone in a swish of cloak to find Ginny. Tonks sat down in the bathroom, laying her hands flat over the kicks and wild dance moves the hippogriff was doing.

"Don't worry, little one," she whispered softly. "I wouldn't trade you for all the adventure in the world."

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Please let me know what you think- anonymous reviews are accepted as well! (Though I enjoy being able to thank reviewers by name  )

Next chapter is Fred- a sneak peek into Potterwatch, and the start of something sinister.


	25. Cocoa Crazy

Hello all! So, in penance for my late and disorganized updates as of recent, I have an offering of three days of daily updates, beginning today- Tonks is the first of these, and I post this as the next of the daily updates. I'll continue this perhaps past three days, but right now, three is the only number I can be sure I can commit to. This chapter begins the Christmas mayhem and a bit of a twist I'm sure won't be anticipated. Enjoy :-)

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25

Fred

He could picture the nape of her neck, that delicious cocoa skin that seemed to shimmer when he drew back her braids. His skin always looked like milk beside hers, the rich cream that would mix their two into frothy hot chocolate. His freckles were their sprinkles, she used to joke when things had been quiet and happy, when the war had been a distant, leering, sinister nightmare and nothing more. Now, he'd grown possessive of that spot on her neck. She was never safe unless he could pull back her hair, kiss her there- _mine_- and hold her close. Angelina was fiercely independent, and he loved her for it. But knowing the next time he saw her might be the last- _had almost been the last_ on several occasions- made him want to keep her by his side at every waking moment.

Fred eyed the gloom of Grimmauld Place, itching his nose as the lamps of the hall flickered into being. Supposedly Harry, Hermione, and his little brother had lived here until recently. They weren't sure why the Trio had moved on yet, but with Death Eaters interrupting broadcast after broadcast, his father and Remus decided to check if Grimmauld could be used until a more permanent hideout could be found. He'd found those first battles at their previous haunts a shake to his nerves. Fred had pictured fighting Death Eaters would be like throwing fireworks in Umbridge's face. Simple. Refreshing. _Easy_. He'd been so young. Sometimes it felt like his nineteen year old self had fallen out in that battle, been killed by that green beam of light Rookwood sent at him. Perhaps it hadn't missed. He was a sleek cobra, his hood spread, the skin of youth sloughed off in seconds when a killing curse came within inches of him. George's face had been ugly and lethal as he sent brilliant, orange hexes at the invaders, and Angelina hurtled into another with a roar, her knife deep in his side. It was like being underwater, watching himself hurl off his childhood -a dark cloak- and sheath his body quickly in what was to come.

The elf heads were gone, as was Kreacher, and the rugs looked brighter, somehow- more lively and elegant. The windows were clear of grime, and Fred remembered on his earlier inspection, before their last broadcast here, that Kingsley had remarked the Trio must have spent a solid week cleaning to get the place this livable. He hoped Ronnie wasn't just cleaning toilets while they were gone.

Putting aside his wonder at where they were hiding now, he watched Kingsley seal the front door with the deadbolt and the dusty figure rose from the carpet like a poorly-timed mannequin at a muggle haunted house. His nose itched again. Fred turned into the kitchen, which gleamed warm with polished wood and the giant table, and pulled down a cup for himself and George, drawing out measures of firewiskey. As a Christmas Eve broadcast, this was the crème de la crème of their reporting- likely they'd have a huge spike in listeners. It wasn't every day you had five hosts, after all. River, Rodent, Romulus, Rapier, and now, his little sister, though she had no idea yet. What nickname should they give her? Little Red? George had suggested that one, but Fred wasn't sure. What if she got stuck on the "Little" portion? They didn't have time to fight off the bogeys she was sure to produce.

His little sister hurried excitedly up the main stairs, excavating the entire upstairs in a blur of running, probably hoping to find a hint that the three amigos had been here before her. Fred shook his head as George sat beside him, eyeing their sister's disappointed face when she slumped down the stairs ten minutes later. Nothing was left, apart from some clothes- though Ginny didn't know where the twins had left those. Her Christmas present tomorrow was a jumper they had found in the mix- it was most certainly Harry's, and though their mother would never figure it out, Ginny would catch it in a second. Fred couldn't wait to see her face.

"So the new wards are up?" he asked George, and George nodded. "Kingsley just put them in place. Snape wouldn't be able to get in now, even if he tried. Good thing, too- I don't fancy having the slimeball listen in to our broadcasts."

A glum Ginny plopped down in her sweatshirt and jeans. She'd changed out of what Fred thought secretly was a very nice dress- so long as she didn't wear it outside of the house. "Any chance they'd show up here for Christmas?" she whispered to him, and he shook his head sadly. He hated seeing her all hurt like this. It had been even worse watching her wince at first when she was walking around at home- he was sure her new love of turtlenecks and long sleeved sweaters was only because she had been visiting with Alecto and Amycus more than she wanted Mum to know.

Angelina was at Muriel's tonight, with Katie and the others, and Fred wanted to have her here desperately. She was safer there, but somehow it made more sense to have her with him so he could protect her. George had caught him sniffing his own food last week at Grimmauld, and had a good laugh telling him he was turning into Mad Eye. What he didn't know was Angelina's mother had made the stew, and she was convinced Fred was going to get her daughter killed. George also didn't know that Angelina got her temper from her mother. Fred considered himself lucky to be facing Death Eaters on most nights over Mrs. Johnson. He hadn't had a good shag in weeks now they were all cooped up together at Muriel's- and it most definitely wasn't Muriel's wrath he feared, nor his mother's. Angie hadn't been much help, telling him to loosen up, giving him massages like she used to do after long practices or games- wearing her short Quidditch warm ups to sleep in and walking around in them at breakfast. He was lucky Mum made eggs, they glued his mouth shut.

Once the wards were in place, they ushered a frostbitten Lee inside, who was running late, having backtracked to make sure he wasn't followed, and pulled him over to defrost in front of the fireplace. The crackling sound felt reassuring to his ears, which were eternally picking up the slightest of background sounds, no matter if he wanted them to or not. It was as if they'd decided to make up for George's missing half by become super-sensitive to any sound, friendly or not, that was in the vicinity. It made sleeping next to Charlie's snoring figure a nightmare. Though having his older brother here was always nice. Charlie was especially prone to their jokes, and he was helping with their new project: Muggle-born Smuggling.

It was Lee's idea, though his father and Kingsley had immediately approved. The three of them, plus Charlie, Katie, and Angelina, and now Oliver Wood, a new addition, apparated in pairs around the country to residences of Muggleborns or their families, and with the Weasley red hair as proof of their allegiance to Dumbledore and the Order, they were slowly but surely gaining the trust of Muggleborns in hiding and bringing them to Muriel's and the Longbottom estate. Some went overseas with Bill's help, and others were staying, cooking and cleaning for those who were short-term visitors. Katie was the medic-on-staff, since some of the refugees had been injured or suffered harm from the elements. Fred was pleased so far at the job they'd done- on days when Potterwatch wasn't his biggest priority, he could feel like he was doing something that would make a difference.

He'd loved turning the Longbottom place into a testing ground for new Wheezes. There were a bunch of little kids there, and they were eager to test out new products. George had gotten the idea to create a line of Order Member and Death Eater action figures from a little Muggleborn boy named Otis, who played with his He-Man action figures each evening, pretending the ones with skull-faces were Death Eaters he was destroying. Fred had added a Tonks-lookalike and a Remus to the group just days before, though the Tonks one had no baby belly. Order members were given purple and scarlet cloaks with a phoenix feather symbol on them. Her "super-power" was that she could switch between three different disguises. The Remus doll was extremely powerful, and could fire mini-Patronuses in the shape of a wolf. George had fashioned what he called "baby-dementors," cape-covered figurines that rattled and occasionally turned into Snape in a hat and dress, courtesy of Remus' boggart lesson all those years ago. The Death Eater line didn't have any specific characters except a Bellatrix look-alike, who screamed as she melted if the Tonks doll touched her.

The only downside to the whole line, which had sold unbelievably fast, was that Harry might eventually kill them both for making him into an action figure, sold alongside a redheaded heroine. Their lips had magnets so they could be forced into kissing, even as Harry repeated one of the seven phrases the doll could say. "Don't make me come over there, Moldy-Shorts," "I speak Parseltongue, bitches," and "Bella, baby, you're going down," were among the most sober of the seven. Fred was wondering how long it would take his mother to murder him once she discovered one. So far, he was still alive.

Ginny squealed beside him and Fred came back to Earth. "So, what'll your code name be? Is Little Red acceptable?" George was teasing her, and Ginny tipped her head, contemplating. Fred noticed his firewhiskey was gone, though George's was still full. _Bastard_.

"I guess I'd like Little Red- though really, it should be Tonks' codename," she giggled, and Fred grinned in shock as she drained George's glass, smacking her lips once. Yes, Little Red would be the fitting nickname for the mate of the big, bad wolf. Fortunately if Remus had heard their snipe, he was dutifully ignoring it, talking to Kingsley about the new wards. Lee set up the machine at the table, and Ginny eagerly panned through the script they'd co-written with Lee for tonight, which had the talking points for each individual jotted down. Ginny was to report on what school life was like for students under the new regime, something she was clearly head-over heels about reporting. Fred felt Lee tug at his collar and he took his spot beside Lee, pulling Ginny down next to him on the bench. Remus and Kingsley were silent, sitting across the table with their wands aimed at the door in case intruders did call, and Fred gave George their customary hi-five over Lee's head pre-broadcast. Lee tapped the dull microphone, a muggle relic from the 1930s. Fred's veins seemed to squeeze as his heart sped up, his blood rushing everywhere, and his fingers couldn't stop tapping. It was always like this before a broadcast, but this time, Angie wasn't here to put her hands over his and roll her eyes as he realized he'd started doing it again. George slapped him to the back of the head. Lee's deep, steady voice filled the room and Fred gripped his sister's hand under the table, which squeezed his tight.

"Welcome to another edition of Potterwatch, I'm your host, River, and I'll be guiding you tonight through our most honored guests and the news they bring of what life is like in the Wizarding World. We offer to you first, however, a peek into what the Chief Death Eater has been up to these past months, with the news that our friendly neighborhood Dark Lord has been visiting both Surrey and the London area, though he does not seem to be staying in Britain for long. He has been sighted in Germany and Hungary, probably visiting some vampire cousins- just kidding, folks, he's not a vampire- though I do admit he looks a bit like one- and we advise our listeners to continue to watch for fishy behavior, even if the Chief Death Eater has been paying calls outside his homeland. His followers can be as deadly as he is, and we hope that all our listeners take steps to secure their homes and families and especially, the innocent muggles around them. Here at Potterwatch we'd like to report with regret that the body of Hestia Jones, fighter for the Order of the Phoenix, has been recovered. It appears that Miss Jones was guarding some of Harry Potter's family and was discovered by Snatchers, who accosted both her and the family she was defending. We honor Miss Jones, who not only held off half a dozen assailants until help could come, but saved the life of a Mr. Dudley Dursley, Harry Potter's cousin, who assisted Miss Jones in the fight, though he had no wand, being a Muggle. We ask for a moment of silence for the bravery of Miss Hestia Jones and her fellow fighters, who worked to save innocent lives."

Lee paused, and Fred could feel, rather than see, George's mouth turned down in indignation. _Dudley the Defender?_ When had the little bully turned into a man? And furthermore, when had Hestia's niece decided he'd make a good boyfriend, unless Remus' information on the aftermath of the raid was off. It had to be. No one would date that lump.

"We turn now to Romulus, who is giving an update on the underground economy and what to do to protect your home against attack from werewolves, some of whom have aligned themselves with the Chief Death Eater."

"Thank you, River," came Remus' smooth tone, and Fred felt the quiet pang of nostalgia hit him as Remus switched into his "professor voice," as Tonks had dubbed it. "I'm happy to be here, and I thank you for that warm introduction. I am less enthused to report, nonetheless, that there is a black market forming alongside our established shops in the wake of the attack on Diagon Alley, which injured countless shopkeepers and goblins and served to shake the foundations of our economy. We'd like to ask that all listeners consider buying through OWL order rather than going to Knockturn Alley for potions ingredients, as we have found it unsafe to venture into the area. We also have reason to suspect that many of the so called "Protective" amulets, cloaks, and charms are fakes, some planted with malicious intent. I'd like to remind our listeners that many of the new shops springing up have gotten their funding from lucrative backers, such as the Lestrange and Malfoy families, who are known Death Eaters, and that profits from their products will fund further Death Eater activity. We'd also like to caution against purchasing anything from Borgin and Burkes, as five clients of this shop have been strangled or killed in suspicious circumstances during the last two weeks."

Remus cleared his throat. Fred's eyes floated down to his script, looking at the points Lee had given him: the problem of the fake invisibility cloaks that had been surfacing for sale, the growing need for a third Muggle-Born shelter, and ways to contact the Order safely. He was having trouble remembering what George had been allotted, as he'd been rather distracted at the time; Angie had been beckoning to him with a single, curling finger from across the room, her nightdress hiked over her hips at the door to her room. He'd had a hard time concentrating with the ideas that suggested.

Remus was speaking now of placing silver-covered items in every room at easy reach, and adding a thick sprinkling of melted silver outside your home, to make a boundary which would keep out transformed werewolves. Remus insisted that adding melted silver to wolfsbane potion, though expensive, could render a potion that was sprayed at an attacking werewolf, transformed or otherwise, that could drain it of energy and injure the werewolf. Fred smirked; he knew the creation was Snape's own, though whether or not the greasy git was listening now, he probably hadn't ever thought his invention would be used to capture his own fellow Death Eaters.

Lee thanked Remus and Fred moved out of the way, allowing a nervous Ginny to slide down the bench next to Lee.

"We have now a representative from Hogwarts school, who is risking her safety to inform us just how dire the situation is for our children. Little Red, tell us, what changes have you witnessed first hand in the school this year?" Lee prodded, and Ginny licked her lips and began.

"Hogwarts has been different from the first day of term under the new Headmaster," Ginny's voice wavered, as she gathered her courage. Fred rubbed her back and she seemed to pull together. "Students are being punished in horrible ways, often for no infraction at all. First and second years have been whipped and hung from their ankles, forced to endure days without food or bathrooms. Alecto and Amycus Carrow have transformed Muggle Studies into a pack of lies about supposedly beastly, stupid Muggles and Defense Against the Dark Arts into a class where students learn to perform the Cruciatus curse on one another. Half-blood students are sought out for torture at the hands of students who serve the Carrows, and the new Headmaster has turned a blind eye to the suffering of his charges, refusing to let the school nurse, Madam Pomfrey, see to those who have been tortured. I myself have been subjected to the Cruciatus curse many times, like my friends. I am a pureblood. In response, the students have reformed Dumbledore's Army, a rebellion led by students to protect ourselves and train in defense. The DA, for short, has been fighting the tyranny instated by the new regime, recruiting other students to look out for one another and to believe in Harry Potter. We know we face a long road ahead, but we of the DA want Harry to know he is missed and loved by us all, and we will continue to fight to protect Hogwarts for him," Ginny said, her voice growing shaky again, and her face shining. Fred pulled her into a hug as Remus patted her back, and Lee took the cue to introduce George, who began a diatribe about securing a meeting place for family, should your home be attacked.

"That was excellent, GinGin," Fred whispered, and his ears picked up on a knock behind him. Tonks was standing there, her face a bit white, and motioning for Ginny to follow her silently. Remus hadn't turned to see her, and Fred felt confused. Wasn't she staying at home tonight?

Ginny looked up and down at the black robe- very unTonks- that covered her baby belly, and then saw the combat boots. She shuffled out to Tonks' smile and Fred felt something strange shoot through his belly. He waved at George, who was watching the scene as he finished his broadcast, and Lee jumped into introducing Kingsley, while Remus paged through a book, looking for the "healing spell of the week" he wanted Kingsley to cover.

Fred and George slunk out to dining room, where Tonks, clad in her robe, was telling Ginny that her mother needed her and she was to escort her home. "We can apparate here, right?" Tonks asked, but Ginny shook her head. "No, Kingsley didn't change that- he just added the new wards- we'd still have to be outside," she replied curiously, and Fred felt that warning ripple through him again. Something was off. Tonks smiled and offered her hand, and Ginny took it, thanking George.

"We'll see you later at Muriel's," he grinned, and told her to remind Mum that she needed to close up the Burrow and reset the wards. "Have Charlie do it, Bill's curled up around Fleur tonight I bet," he added. Fred walked forward as Tonks' mouth turned down, and she pulled a bit at Ginny. "We need to get going, Mrs. Weasley was getting shirty with me," she said to Ginny, and Fred pulled his wand.

"You haven't called Mum anything but Molly. Ever." He said, noticing her hair didn't blast a bit of red like Tonks' always did when someone drew a wand on her. The twisting feeling in his gut increased. Tonks did not go for her wand, as she should have, but somehow, this made him feel even worse. "Let Ginny go," he said with a deathly glare, and now George was pulling his wand too. Ginny was completely still, staring in fear at Tonks, as though trying to see through her face to whoever the imposter was inside.

"I swear, if you don't let her go, I'll cut you to pieces," Fred growled, sending a binding hex at the imposter.

A flash and a ringing noise filled the room, and he heard Ginny cry out. The woman had drawn her wand faster than he could see, and he found his body crashing into the chairs, the wind knocked out of him. Fred sprung to his feet and fired stunners off, yelling for Kingsley.

"REMUS! GET IN HERE!" George yelled, and there was terror in his voice. The Tonks-imposter had an unconscious Ginny in front of her, a silvery knife at her neck. Fred saw red and fired the strongest curses he knew at the woman as Remus came running into the room, slamming into a shield that none of them had seen. Kingsley was nowhere to be seen. Lee's voice had disappeared from the next room.

"Oh, I wouldn't look for them," the imposter cackled, and Fred's hair rose. The voice was Tonks', but with her hair black and her face slightly elongated, she was beginning to look more and more like her aunt, who was holding his sister tight, little scarlet beads running down the knife from its spot on her collarbone. Fred wanted to summon Ginny, but what if the knife cut through her throat?

He threw more spells at Bella, who was laughing as Remus screamed at her, throwing curses, asking what she'd done with his wife.

"The dirty little half blood is fine, wolfie," she cackled, parrying George's curse and shielding herself from Remus. "I couldn't care less where your whore is. I just thought you'd like to visit with some of her dear kin for Christmas," Bella grinned, her toothy smile leering at Fred as he threw desperate spells at her. Ginny's body twitched like a grotesque puppet pulled on fifteen strings as spells hit her instead of Bella, or they summoned her in turn. The knife had been destroyed by Remus's quick spellwork, banished to Merlin knew where, but Ginny's body was still limp, still held up by hands that could wring her neck, by arms that would not tarry before slicing her to death. Bella's eyes grew gleeful as George fell with a piercing scream that cut Fred, and he found himself thrown in the air and the light in the room was extinguished as though drained in an instant; his head swam, he felt his stomach heave; Remus was screaming angrily, Bella was laughing, her cries echoing off stone that was nowhere in the room, and George was crying out, excruciating, carrying screams that were filled with deep, killing pain. Fred crawled, blind, toward the cries, praying he could knock him out, stop the pain, find his brother; where was the voice coming from? Then he realized it was his own voice; George was here, beside him, telling him to breath, and Bella was yelling out to Remus that she should have killed Kingsley instead of Imperiusing him, and Remus was growling, a carnal, feral sound filling Fred's head, and then he felt himself lift off, up into the cloudy reaches beyond his mind, separate but equal, and the rain was turning to snow before his eyes, grey snow that couldn't be real but couldn't be dreamed, and it bled purple onto his knees, onto his chest. Angie was there, her voice crying for him to wake up, and George was sobbing, his throat heavy and filled with mucus, and someone was thumping his chest, pressing down again and again, small hands, long fingers, pressing determinedly, and his eyes fluttered, soft like doves' wings, before the light seeped in like the purple snow. It trickled back as George's face came into focus, and he knew, without knowing, that Ginny was gone.

"We've got to get her back," he heaved, his own voice raspy, and he could taste bitter salt in his mouth. Angie forced him back down, her wand waving menacingly over him. "DON'T YOU DARE RUN OFF LIKE THIS," she yelled with a deadly look. "You'll die if you try to apparate and I'd never talk to you again if you tried," she snarled, and George pulled him up under his arms, carrying him with her to the fireplace. Kingsley was shaking his head, holding a tight-faced Remus, new tears on his cheeks, by the shoulders, and Lee was flooing ahead of them to Muriel's.

"The Grotto!" George cried as the fire burned green, and Angie smiled at him worriedly, her bloody hand clamped to his, and leaned down as they spun in the grate. Fred felt his mind go black again as she pressed her lips to his forehead.

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So, reviews? Pretty please? With chocolate and a cherry on top??


	26. The Dance of the Diggorys

So, a small respite before we see how Ginny is doing in her new home . . . I will assure you, I stick to canon. Harry just never finds out Ginny was taken prisoner during DH- how would that kind of news reach him anyway? A patronus? Maybe. But Ginny wants him left out of it. She doesn't want anyone to tell him- if they do, she knows he'd do something brave, stupid, and incredibly Harry.

So now to Alicia. Enjoy :-)

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26

Alicia

Oliver will meet me later. _Hurry_. Only two houses left today, what did Fred say? Yes, the last two are not Muggle-borns. I pull out the apparition coordinates, the wrinkled paper smooth and soft on my chapped hands. It feels like butter sliding in this chill, almost like my skin has melted into it. No time, need to move- if nothing else, to get out of this cold, I remind myself. _Always moving_.

I walk deeper into the forest behind Muriel's. The new fallen snow is bleeding into the ground and the trees. It has begun to melt in the sun, though it will refreeze tonight. Merlin, with Ginny gone. I hope she's not in some underground cellar or whatnot. She'd freeze, she's got nothing but bones and skin. Molly for once does need to feed her up, and what if she doesn't get the chance? Fred looked so pinched this morning, handing off these and telling me we needed to keep going. He was trying to be so stoic about the whole thing- anybody can see it was eating him apart inside, the not-knowing. They don't know where she is, if she's alive still, if she's being tortured. They just know whatever it is, it can't be good_. Merlin, Ginny gone_, and Fred wounded- that white face- and Angie looking like the guard dog who'll kill anyone who gets too close to him in his chair. Thank Morganna Charlie could look up all the coordinates and such- at least the boys have got something to keep their minds off it all. Molly might stuff them all fat as Christmas hogs trying to stop thinking about where Ginny may be.

Ok. Destination, Determination . . . whatever, _spin, girl_- there's that whoosh- ah, and my fingers feel tingly. Strange. The house is up the hill, Arthur said- not too far from the Lovegood place, just a few acres beyond the village to the East. Follow the trail from the break in the trees. Ok, there have got to be at least five breaks . . . which one is the drive? He said it would slope down . . . ok, that one's got to be it.

URG! COLD! COLD! COLD COLD COLD FUCKING COLD!!!! That was definitely NOT a road, that was an effing river! How does snow do it? Why doesn't it just turn into mush? Well duh, idiot- it's called ice- yeah, good thing George isn't here with me today. I don't fancy seeing his face after I just soaked myself up to my thighs. He's got Katie hanging off his arm right now, and she doesn't even want to date him yet- _how the hell does she not want him?_ I'll never understand all that.

That's uh . . . oh, yes, I guess this is it. Old oaks, white birch door, three pillars each side of the door, plantation windows- this is the Diggory place. Godric, I wish Ced were still here- I could see him lounging around the hammock over there, swinging his broom through the cedars- he must have loved those trees. They look like giants swaying in the chill. Right. Get a grip.

I toss back my hair, pull it behind my ears, shivering still. I hope they've got a fire going. It is Christmas, after all- I know it's rude, but this was the only time they were sure not to have company that could talk. Arthur said they have a bunch of Ministry lags visiting for Mr. Diggory's work during the day, people who could see me, could overhear- I dunno if I can do this, I mean- c'mon, is he really gonna listen to ME? _I wouldn't_. I'm soaked through and I'm interrupting what has got to be a painful day- a Christmas without Cedric, again- and I'm going to sound like a blithering idiot. Ok. Just knock. It can't hurt to try.

Mrs. Diggory opens the door. She's got Ced's eyes. I remember seeing them twinkle at me across a broom and wishing they'd look at me again.

"Mrs. Diggory? It's Alicia Spinnet, I was in Ced's year," I hear myself say, and she looks watery all of a sudden, like her eyes and her skin spouted drops of melting snow. She pulls me inside, and it's ridiculous how warm I feel. I peel off my coat and the sopping wet mittens, shuck my boots, trying to escape the sauna I feel enveloping me.

"I'm so sorry for coming by on Christmas day, I know it must be difficult for you," I say quietly, wishing I had more tact as she nods, her voice caught in her throat. "I hope I'm not interrupting?" I ask, and she levels me a look that says any time I came, I'd be interrupting. _Shite_.

"What brings you to our home?" she asks politely, and I can feel her husband's eyes on my face, trying to place me_. Friend or foe? _He's standing by the fireplace, but I don't know when he came in.

"I come with a business offer," I begin, as I've been instructed, but somehow the idea feels stale in my stomach, like curdled milk. It reeks of cheap talk. They lost a son, they won't be interested in money, I told Remus- but he kept assuring me, Diggory would respond to this. I didn't think it was wise. Hearing my own voice begin his opening, this plan is withering before my eyes, and I don't even want to catch at the strings.

"Well, actually, I guess it's more of an opportunity, and a chance for you to help someone who really needs it," I offer, trying to walk backwards and note their enthusiasm (or in this case, lack thereof) for what I'm tempting them with. Godric, and I once thought about going into acting. A natural, Fred had called me. The dolt.

"We're not interested in anything you might be selling, young lady," Mr. Diggory's eyes are hard, pointy, like he's got my measurements down and the dress is never going to fit. "I promise, I'm not selling anything, I just wanted to know where your loyalties lie. How far you'd go to prove them," I say, before I see the pinched look on both their faces widen in shock and a bit of fear flits between them, and I realize I'm paddling down the wrong frozen river.

"Oh, No no! Not anything like that- I mean, I'm not- I, well, we're not- I'm not a Death Eater," I ramble, hating my own mouth as it spews whatever comes to my tongue. Really. "I'm not related to any, either, at least, not that I know of- I always did wonder about my uncle Ernest, but he was just a bit crazy, not dangerous- or I don't think he was- and anyways- oh HELL- I'm here as a representative of the Order of the Phoenix," I finally blurt out, wishing I'd taken some of Fred's new superglue. Honestly, it would be helpful I don't know the countercurse yet. I could just slip my lips together and mime everything. They'd be less likely to kick me out, at least, if they thought I was mute.

I look up, wondering if they're going to draw wands on me or just throw we out to freeze, already planning my best tuck-and-roll from Quidditch to soften the landing . . . ice was always the worst . . . and see Mrs. Diggory's eyes soften. It's barely noticeable, but I can see them change, the tips of her lids lowering, relaxing. So slight. So tiny a difference, but it warms me all over.

"Prove to me you're with the Order, and you're Alicia Spinnet," Amos Diggory is saying to me, and his wife is so still, like she's frozen to her chair.

"Well, erm- I know Ced was the Seeker for his House, he was in Hufflepuff- I'm a Gryffindor, I mean, I was a Gryffindor. I was friends with Kelina, that's who he dated before Cho- y'know, Kelina Gates, she was a Gryffindor in my year. She'd tell you they took ages to finally kiss, she told me all about it: said Ced was a gentleman, and he took her to a Weird Sisters concert and then out to dinner at this French place, even though she could tell he hated the Weird Sisters- that was summer before my fifth year, so it would have been his sixth . . . and Kelina had me over with her and Ced once when you picked him up by floo, Mrs. Diggory- d'you remember me at all? I was shorter, a bit, and my hair was a mite longer . . ." but Mrs. Diggory is nodding, and she and Amos seem to be speaking in the wind, so to call it- Gramps always told me when he and Grandma were together, before she passed on, they could talk without talking. I didn't get it until now, but surely, there was a vivid conversation going on, with expletives and verbs and what-not, right in front of me, and there wasn't even any wandwork.

"Why don't you come into the kitchen, dear. I'll whip up a spot of tea and you can let me know what you have in mind," I hear from beside me, and Mrs. Diggory is holding my arm gently, and her wand is drying my trousers. Thank Godric, I hadn't even realized I'd been so cold until it was gone, and I could feel my skin flush as it dried.

The kitchen is warmer still, and I pull off another layer up top until I'm down to my shirt and a cami. I think I've got Mrs. Diggory's ears, but Mr. Diggory's wand is on the table in front of me, like a sneer from Snape- it speaks to me. Don't step one toe out of line in my house, they both yell silently. His wife seems to ignore the gesture, or maybe she just doesn't notice- she's bustling around, the kettle is ringing merrily, and I pull the tea cup from her hands gratefully, warming my fingers. They're sore, but that's not what I need to think about. Focus. C'mon, Alicia.

"I'm here on behalf of the Order, like I told you," I say, and Diggory interrupts me. "Yes, you did, and we believe you're Alicia- I remember seeing pictures, and the sneakoscopes haven't gone off, but that doesn't mean you didn't mess with them," he says intently, staring at me. The whites of his eyes are huge, like I'm up close to his face, plastered on a screen or a picture, and he's giving me that glare again. Ok, ok, I get it, you don't trust me. "I can cast my patronus and send it to Arthur Weasley if you'd like. He'll confirm my membership. I can ask for a second, if you'd prefer."

Diggory exchanges a look with his wife, and nods his head. I send the call to Arthur, whose Weasel comes traipsing back, filling the room with his calming tone. "Alicia Spinnet has been a full member of the Order of the Phoenix for a year and six months," it rings out in the kitchen. "She can be trusted, Amos. We need your help to save innocent lives, if you can."

Diggory is quiet, and his wife is sipping her tea a bit too intently. "Amos, let her explain. What does Arthur mean, 'innocent lives'?"

I take a deep breath. "We've been trying to rescue Muggle Borns to make sure they aren't killed, kissed, or taken to prison. They've done nothing wrong. If people could steal magic, there wouldn't be any squibs," I argue, hoping they'll agree with my logic. Mr. Diggory waves my next sentences away. "Yes, yes, we know that Umbridge woman's ideas are a load of shite- but what do you expect us to do? I work for the Ministry! They'd have me killed if I smuggled out convicted persons!"

"We don't expect you to break into Azkaban and carry them off," I say, a bit exasperated. Honestly, could he listen to his wife? She told me to explain, and I'd very much like to, thank you!

"We have a team that recovers Muggle Borns and their families and then we place them either in a safe house, of which there are two main ones and six smaller, single family units, or make arrangements for them to go into hiding abroad until the war is over," I begin, but the dolt cuts me off again. "Until the war is over? Or do you mean, until Harry Potter's dead and you all give up?" he says angrily, and I can feel his tension. He's hurt. Harry was the one supposed to die, not Cedric, his voice says. _Harry was the one He wanted._

"Even if Harry does die, we'll still be doing this. It's what's right. It's what Dumbledore died doing, trying to protect people from the Dark Arts and the people who practice them. It's what I'll do, until the war is over or I'm killed- because I want my family to be safe. I don't want my mother to cry over losing me or my brothers. I want her to know we're safe," I say, starting at a yell and ending in a whisper. I can't hurt them more than they've already been. They'll either help, or they won't. I look around the room, and I can see fifteen mothers teaching their children to read, fifteen fathers shaking off snow from their boots, bringing in firewood. This place could save a hundred, maybe more- it's huge. I see Mrs. Diggory's eyes, the gentle, quiet calm gone, life sparkling in them despite the tears. She understands what I want.

"Amos, come with me. I wish to discuss this with you," she says firmly, and a tiny cheer pops out from my heart as I see him look at her, startled, and finally edge out of the room, giving me another glare. Murmurs fade in from the room beside me, but whatever they're deciding, I can't tell. I cross my fingers first, then my toes- what if they don't? What if they kick me out even now, and I can't even get Roger Davies' family to help? He's next, and I know he'd like to help- but with a muggle military dad, he's not likely to be able to budge his father's will, should his dad decide it's too much of a risk. Sometimes I wish muggles knew about us- maybe then they'd see how dangerous magic can be, and how hard it can be to fix things, even with the most complex of spells at our disposal. Muggles think it can fix anything like new- but it can't stopper death. It can't peel back abuse. Magic can't twinkle away destruction when your emotions will still be there, waving at you cheerfully, nodding at their own brisk power to bring you to your knees in pain. Magic can't make you perfect.

Soft shoe steps stop my musings, and Mrs. Diggory and two elves in pink, flowered tea-towels are standing next to me.

"Don't worry about him, dear, he's been a bit flighty since Cedric was taken," she says gently, and I nod, confused. "Is he alright?" I ask warily, hoping I didn't screw things up more than I've realized. "He'll be just fine. Some young ones around us would help, I think. He's agreed to let you bring anyone you need to our place, so long as we set up some new wards. We'll need a week, I think, to let me come down with something suitably nasty to keep his coworkers away, but after that, we should be able to keep things running ourselves."

And just like that, she's making a list for the elves- bedding to clean, a pantry to fill, old tables to be brought out and set up- and I can't help it, I'm so happy- I throw myself at this tiny woman, my arms gaping around her like the jaws of a fish fifty sizes bigger than its prey, and she doesn't even stumble.

"THANK YOU SO MUCH!" I'm crying, hugging her like a child, and she's patting my back, gently rocking me, and I'm reminded of Gramma, hugging me and swaying side to side like we're dancing. "Cedric would want us to help his friends," she says quietly, a bit lost-like, and I smile into her shoulder, and pat her back in turn, hug her tighter. "I think he would like it," I agree quietly, and we sit down to a new pot of tea to settle up a new home.


	27. Crush

Hello my wonderful readers . . . this is the beginning of a dark time for Ginny. Don't worry, she makes it through!

Cheers,

Jenna

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27

Ginny

There was a chill in the air, a promise of things to come. It was a silent killer, easing under her shirt, creeping long-nailed fingers under the weight of her back, dancing lightly over her chest. It felt heavy as an iron weight. The cold was seeping through the holes in her socks and the threadbare portion of her heel. It was deep, turgid; like caramel melting in long strings, it went on and on, never really going anywhere but up her trouser legs, curling like frost on a window over the muscles of her legs. She could feel the grip of the cold strengthen around her neck- delicate, sinister. She was scared.

Her hands were still knotted together, as were her feet, and if she shifted over to the side, she could feel the prickling of cold stone like razors cutting into her skin. The only clues to where she'd been taken was the moss, frozen and long dead, that once grew on the top of the window of her cell, where four steel bars provided a view of a snowy whirl of dark blizzard beyond them. Still in England, most likely- but she could be anywhere in the countryside, given how big the storm was rumored to be. Her cloak had been off when she'd been taken, and with her sweatpants and jumper loose on her thin frame, she had no comfort against the frozen dirt floor she was lying on. She'd tried sitting up, but her head swam and she'd vomited the first time. The contents of her stomach had frozen over, a tan pile of treacle tart mixed with firewhiskey and eggnog that had seeped into the ground and frozen solid almost immediately. It stared at her, taunting her empty stomach and her airy head.

Her captors were nowhere to be seen, and she had yet to hear any evidence they were still near her. She'd awoken some time ago- it could not be more than a few minutes, could it?- to the feel of intense, all-encompassing cold like she'd never felt and the sight of the once moldy stone walls, dark green lichen and moss creeping down the sides like egg whites sliding down the side of a pan. Ginny craned her neck back, pulling at her abs, trying to see behind her. The ropes weren't magical. She felt fury at her situation, mostly at herself. How had she not seen through Bella's disguise? Tonks would NEVER wear a black robe. She'd had green hair. With silver spikes. The Bellatrix-Tonks had jet black, a color that matched her heart, Ginny thought wryly. Coughs came out from deep in her chest, and she knew a moment of panic. What if they left her here? Would she freeze to death, alone?

Crunches sounded behind her. A long fingered hand trailed down her backside, teasing, and she shivered, trying to pull her body into the ground in a fruitless attempt to burrow away.

"Oh, I don't think that will work, ginger," came Bella's pleased, cackling voice. Ginny's arm hair stood up, the blood in her face rushing back in anger. She spat at the shoes that came into her view.

A kick slammed into her ribs and then her face, and she spat again, though this time to get the blood out of her mouth. Bellatrix chuckled happily, her twisted laughs echoing off the stone, magnified to thirty times their volume. Ginny's shoulders pulled up, her ears were ringing, and Bella's laugh seemed to go on in her head, echoing between her ears. A third kick flipped her painfully on her back, and she wondered, in a haze of pain, if this was how Harry had felt when Malfoy had him on the train. Bella leered down at her, put her cold fingers on her face, pressed her lips together whimsically before cutting into her cheek with a single sharp nail, reveling in the pained look Ginny could not hide.

"Yes, I think I'll enjoy you very much," she smirked, licking the blood off her finger. Ginny rolled over and wretched again into the frozen dirt. There was nothing more to come up, but her nostrils were assailed this time with the stench of urine, still discernable over the frozen ground. She was not the first to lie here.

"Get used to being trash. You've always been trash, ginger. I won't let you die out here, no, little darling- you're going to be doing something special for my Lord. Yes, he'll be so pleased to meet you," Bella's sickly sweet tone prodded, her face spread wide in a grin, licking her nails. Ginny ignored her. She would not reply. She would not ask what was to happen to her. She tensed her shoulders up, curled into a ball; it was the warmest, even if it hurt her stomach and back. Her hip dug into the dirt, bruised; she would not last long in here without heat, at least above freezing; hoping Bellatrix was telling the truth, and yet fearing what might come once she was moved, she said a silent prayer that wherever they all were, her family were still safe and had left Grimmauld. What if the others had been captured? _And how the HELL had Bella gotten in? _

Tears froze on her face and she pressed her cheek against the rough of the cold sweatshirt. She could not afford to show weakness. Ginny allowed herself a few sobs that wracked through her body, then quieted, trying to conserve her energy. She would count the stones of the wall, the pebbles that littered the floor . . . dragging her hands over her shoulders, she pulled them before her, and her shoulders ached in relief. Pressing them into the ground, she hauled herself butt first into the air and finally reached a spot on the wall that she could sit against. The wall felt warmer, next to the door Bella had left through, and she could feel the whispers of heat leaving through the door. She squeezed her toes under the door and felt them warm a bit as heat slid over them. Her fingers followed, pressing over burning toes. She swallowed a groan. _Godric, this was going to hurt._ At least she wouldn't lose anything to frostbite now.

No more than ten minutes could have passed before Ginny's steady rubbing of her hands to warm them uncovered the happy fact that the rope was brittle from the cold, and though prone to giving her chapped skin a nasty brushburn, it was also capable of fraying itself when rubbed against other coils. She set the rope at her feet to rubbing back and forth against the length that bound her hands, stretching her legs back and forth, her thighs screaming in protest._ Think, Gin. Just keep moving. It's keeping you warm. I can get these off, climb out that window- thank Godric I'm skinny. Those bars might keep Crabbe and Goyle from escaping, but I can squeak through. Then I just need to . . . well, ok, maybe I shouldn't run out into that storm_. _I'd be dead quicker than Bella could Avada Kedavra my arse._

Ginny's eyes flitted around the room. There was nothing else in the cell, and her heart pinched within her as she wondered if Luna had been kept in this horrid hole. Could anyone survive this kind of exposure for long? She looked to her feet, noting with flaring hatred that her shoes had been removed, probably on purpose. _Bastards_. Just so long as they didn't take her socks.

In the corner across from the door there was a bent nail sticking out from the wood, a makeshift wall that had once covered the quarried rock. Lying on her side, she rolled across the floor, stopping quickly when the door opened abruptly and Bella's voice yelled for her to stop squirming. Another series of kicks followed, though they were shorter, less biting, as though the cold were starting to affect her captor as well. Ginny smiled grimly. At least Bellatrix was as sick of the blizzard as she was. Perhaps she'd been weakened by the fight, though Ginny knew it was foolish to hope for. Bella was a formidable opponent for any three duelers in the Order. She wouldn't be fooled into dreaming herself as capable of taking her down, especially with her wand sitting on the dresser at home. It wouldn't have been much help in this situation anyway; she could apparate now, thanks to Charlie, but this place was sure to have wards against it. Not to mention she'd have to fight Bella off to get out; that in itself was a death-wish waiting to happen.

No, this was not a time for asking for trouble. This was a time for making her own brand of Weasley Mischief. She was not Fred and George's little sister for nothing.

Pulling out the bent nail with straining fingernails, which snapped painfully on her first try, she filed down the rest of the ropes with the point, stripping frayed bits from the coil around her wrists. Her arms emerged, the skin torn to bits and brushed a raw red by the ropes going back and forth as she worked. The cold numbed her, but Ginny could tell that she was in for some serious pain later. Reaching into her shirt, she told herself that if she ever saw Hannah again, she'd cover her face in kisses for making the mini healer kit for her bra. The place where padding should have been held tiny vials of pain potion, burn cream, and blood replenishing potion. There was no dittany left to put in the kit, which had been Neville's idea when the three had been outside in the forest and their cloaks, complete with their healing kits, had been decidedly inside the castle. She tweaked the lid on the burn cream. Hannah said it healed blisters and cracked skin; _here's hoping it heals cuts from rope-burn as well_, Ginny thought hopefully.

The orange cream felt like heaven on her burning wrists, and within three minutes, she could no longer see the angry red marks that had covered her skin. Smiling for the first time in what had to be hours, she scooted back to the warmth near the door and made quick work of the ropes on her legs. The nail cut into her leg once, but she stifled the cry of pain and cut through the last of the rope, feeling her heart flutter when she was freed and blood rushed into her legs, tingly like insects crawling through her skin.

Ginny stood up cautiously, looking out the window. Snow flurries filled the twenty feet she could see, beyond which was a blurry white nothingness. She could not hope to find shelter without Bella tracking her, and she would die of the elements even if she did get far away enough to lose her own trail. With her luck, she'd circle herself and Bella would shriek with laughter when they found her body fifteen feet outside, stuck in a snow drift. No, she could not get out the window.

She examined the long nail, taking in the rust spots and the sharp point. It had cut through tough rope an inch thick; surely, it could cut through flesh. The question wasn't whether or not the nail could. The question was _**could she?**_

Ginny's mind had split, and while one side, that looked scarily like her mother with her favorite flowered apron on, argued that she could never take a life, another Ginny was pleading with her to see reason. Did attacking Bella mean she had to kill? No. She just had to wound her enough to get her wand. Ginny brushed this away sensibly. _Injuring Bella bad enough to wrestle her wand would mean killing her almost certainly. _The woman's wand was like a third arm, branching from the mother tree. It was as much a part of her as the sick fingers that had trailed over Ginny's back earlier, making her skin crawl. She eyed the nail.

Her brothers would do it for her. She knew one or two of them might have even taken a life, by now. Harry might have been forced to. Ron probably had, maybe trying to save Hermione or keep Harry safe. Bill had told her once that if it came between him and his opponent, he'd rather live to make the world a better place where he'd never have to take a life again. But could she do it?

She considered her own neck, fingers resting tentatively around the delicate skin over her collarbones, the hollows that Harry had loved to trace with his kisses. The skin felt soft as silk, even in the cold. Did Bellatrix have soft skin like this, gentle curves that covered arteries and muscle and tissue? Did she let a lover's fingers glide over the arch of her neck, clasp a necklace around it, maybe rub lotion on the skin? Could a woman like Bellatrix have a life where such normal things happened? It was a hard idea to grasp, and Ginny shook her head at herself. It did not matter if Bellatrix had worn jewelry. She was planning to torture and kill her, and Ginny needed to hit back the only way she could. She'd deal with her conscience later. Now was the time to fight.

She pressed her ear, which was screaming at her from the cold, up against the door. The silver earrings she'd been wearing tonight had been abandoned the moment she had her hands free; the cold metal posts felt icy against her flesh. She'd hidden them in her bra, next to the rest of her healer kit, hoping to keep them. They might not have the best of memories to associate them with, but she was determined to wear them one day and laugh to Harry, "I remember wearing these that time I got captured," like it was nothing at all. Someday they'd chuckle over how sad things had looked, taking pleasure in how much better things were now they were together again, and safe. _Someday_.

Ginny swallowed the tears that threatened to drop over her eyelids at the thought of the someday she feared would never happen. _Not now. Focus_, she urged herself, and the dirt was packed cold as ice under her toes. No voices conversed by the door. Bella was alone, for all her talk. She hadn't moved Ginny yet because she couldn't! No one else was here to send a message ahead, and Bellatrix must be stuck waiting for an audience with Voldie. Ginny felt dark satisfaction leap in her throat at the thought that Bella was just as miserable as she was, and she gripped the nail in her palm, which was sweating despite the chill. Light shone under the door, dim but visible, and Ginny heard a single set of feet pacing, swift, anxious steps, pausing at the wall, then pacing back again, feet that were spread by hips but close together, those of a woman- Bellatrix- and she picked up a pebble and aimed her best Chaser's eyes at the window bars, tasting the blood inside her cheek.

Her aim rang true, echoing throughout the cell and she hit a second rock at the floor, letting it skip across the stone. She slid behind the door, standing on tiptoe on a tiny jutting of stone that made a little nook above the bottom hinges. Bella was sure to look under the door for her feet before entering the room. Sure enough, a shadow blocked the light below the door, and Ginny braced herself, her heart racing like mad. She was seconds away from becoming a murderer.

The door flew open with a bang that nearly knocked her off the ledge, and she saw the shadow of Bella's figure, draped in heavy robes, careening into the room, then shaking her own body as she grasped the posts at the window. Bella screamed in anger and the door began to swing back, revealing Ginny standing in its wake, and without a single thought she threw herself, nail curled above her head in a vicious arch, with the grace of a panther cornering her prey. A single swipe dug deep, deep into warm, wet flesh, red spurting over her hands, and Ginny 's fingers were slippery with Bella's blood. She felt a rush of fear and anger, pain and nausea, and her ears rang with the screams that she or Bella or perhaps both of them were emitting. Like wildcats clawing and growling, they wrestled, Bella moaning and frantically pulling at Ginny's hands, where the nail was buried below her skin in her neck. Ginny scraped at her, clawing at her face, pulling her hands up and wrenching with a gasp the wand that would save her life. Bella fell to the floor, dark red swallowing up her shoulder and chest, heaving, and Ginny saw her body still. Was she dead?

She paused, and aimed her wand at the woman she'd hated for so long. Thinking of the Longbottoms, of Neville's lost childhood, she steeled herself, wanting to hurt more, to throw curses at her, to encase her in fire and watch her burn. Ginny sobbed, and it sounded unearthly to her ears. She cast ropes around Bella's body, binding her firmly, and rolled her over, inspecting the wound. Sealing off the skin so that the bleeding slowed to a gentle drip, she pocketed the nail she'd summoned, reminding herself that she might yet need a weapon that was not a wand. The foreign wand was heavy and accusing in her hand, and she gulped when she saw Bellatrix, her skin deathly white and her breathing a rattling, wheezy sound. Ginny should leave her here, but she would die; could she carry her to the Order, a prisoner? Would they kill her? Ginny didn't mind the thought of someone else doing so, was relieved by the thought, in fact- but what was more important was the information Bellatrix might have, the uses they could put her to. Her mind made up, she cast a warming charm on them each, exhilarated to have her toes wiggle without pain, and pulled Bella's body out to the other room.

The next space was bare, save for a table, two chairs, and a fireplace, which had a rusting cauldron over the failing flames. Ginny stoked the fire, knowing she had to think fast. Bella would awake soon, and who knew if she'd already sent for backup while she'd been waiting here? Shivering at the thought of fighting off more Death Eaters in her condition, Ginny spied a bowl and spoon on the table and threw out the chilled soup onto the ground in the cell. She twirled her wand and the two spun, transforming into warm boots she slipped on her feet. Grasping Bellatrix's body by her legs, she half-dragged the despised woman to the door, trying not to look at the scarlet stain that mocked her from below. Ginny couldn't do it. The woman was probably the most evil being she'd ever meet, aside from Tom, but she couldn't kill her.

She stopped at the door, frozen, listening to the sounds of movement outside the door. She was leaning over, trying to press her ears against the cold wood, when it happened.

A blinding pain struck her face and shoulder, sending her flying, as the door swung heavy into her. Ginny yelped and straightened from the corner, rubbing her leg, which felt broken, and tapped it twice with the wand, then fired some stunners at the new intruder. Fenrir Greyback's angry snarl filled her ears. He parried her stunners and the impedimentia she sent at him, taking in Bella's form on the ground with a disturbing, malicious grin and sending blinding crimson beams at Ginny, who felt like she was playing a most perverted game of hopscotch as she ducked and jumped to avoid them. They left deep scorches in the dirt that sizzled in the air as she dueled. With a running kick, she leapt onto the table, firing more spells without missing a beat, but Greyback smiled toothily and growled, and the table was blasted into chips below her. Ginny toppled with a wild scream, feeling splinters the length of her arms pierce her side, dust smogging up her lungs. She coughed, grasping wildly for her wand. _Godric, she was going to die, he was going to kill her_- strong, greasy hands wrapped around her neck, lifting her up, chocking her, and Ginny kicked and flailed, trying to wriggle out from his vice-like grasp. Her leg connected with his groin and he howled, throwing her down, and pain blotted out her senses for a moment. She crawled behind a chair, throwing it at him, but he tore off a leg like it was a drumstick at a feast and stared at her, pink dribble running down the side of his mouth. She was trapped into the corner, and he was standing there, watching her eyes as she panicked, smiling horribly through thin, pointy teeth, and she could smell his breath, ragged and foul, coming from his lips.

"Looks like you gave old Bella a bit of a run, my treat," he snarled, and Ginny dodged his blow as the thick chair leg came down, hitting the wall behind her. She stabbed at his thigh with the nail, striking deep into his muscle, but he slammed her against the wall. She bounced off, pain shot through her- her head had exploded- and then his body was writhing on top of hers, scrabbling at her shirt. Ginny kicked out but her feet met no target; she twisted, feeling her leg burn as the hastily mended bone shattered once more; the wand was nowhere to be found by her searching fingers, and his breath was hot as he held her down, nipping at her buttons on the shirt below her jumper. He tore off her shirt with a mighty rip, and Ginny screamed, realizing in a flash what he was going to do. She pounded on his shoulders, her nails snapped as she raked them across his face, leaving cuts over his nose, and he snapped at her, his yellowing teeth right in her face. She saw rows and rows of them, gnashing by her eyeballs, and she screamed again, ripping at his ears, biting his jugular. Blood swept over her mouth, salty and thick, and she spat it out, listening to him howl and clawing more at the wound she'd opened. He slammed her into the wall again and her head swam, pain threatened to overcome her; he kicked her leg and she screamed, tears blinding her; _just let it be over, then, let him kill her, just let it be over, no more pain._

His claws ripped across her belly, exposed to the cold of the air, and he threw back his head and howled, a lust-filled, terrifying yowl, as her bra was cut and it fell away. Ginny threw her hands over her chest, tears blurring her vision, as he laughed low and dangerous above her, rubbing his hips against hers.

"And now, my sweet little treat- now, you'll get a final lesson in how to respect your betters," he growled, raving, and like magic had clicked on in her brain, she felt the loop of the silver earring, cold against her fingers, and she shoved the ring of metal into the soft flesh of his bleeding neck.

A terrible, roaring cry filled the room, and Ginny kicked and punched, and rolled out from under him. She scrambled for the second earring, feeling the cold weight in her hand, and pressed it against his skin, watching as it burned into his muscle. Fenrir rose up, clawing at her, and she was slammed again into the wall. From the blur before her, she saw him shaking, whimpering, and then her eyes closed, and she felt calm steal over her. She was dead, she was sure of it. At least he could not take her pride.

It was strange to awaken, warm but achy, and to feel her body as though she were still in it. Quaint to feel muscles that had been torn and bleeding now whole. If this was heaven, Harry would be rid of his scar, and Dumbledore would likely have both hands whole and normal. She'd get to meet her uncles, at long last.

But heaven did not smell like piss, surely? Ginny opened her eyes a fraction and glimpsed the telltale signs of a cell, albeit a cleaner and much warmer one, surrounding her. Her heart fell even as it lifted at finding herself alive and less broken than she should be. Her leg was intact- bruised, but the bone was whole. Her cuts were scabbed over. Her head gave a throb, and she cupped her hands to it, reveling suddenly in the realization that she was not bound. She could touch her face, run her fingertips over her arms- all was sore, unbelievably sore- but she was clothed in robes, her bra and underwear were fixed. There was nothing else on her, no trusty nail, but her healer kit was still hidden in her bra, and her earrings had been cleaned and placed beside her. She jogged her mind, trying to recall the vaguest memory of what might have brought her here. It was a prison, no doubt, but it was definitely a step above anything she'd hoped for. Ginny cautioned herself against dreaming of a quick, easy escape or compassion from her captors and tried to clear her mind of her emotions, sure that she was here to be questioned. Where had Greyback brought her?

The hours passed none too swiftly, and after five or six had trickled by, she began to grow unnerved. Did they plan to break her by destroying her mind? Were they avoiding her to let her imagine the worst? She wanted desperately to relax, to let her mind and her body ease into happy slumber, but the tension curled up in her chest like a living creature. Ginny had inspected her quarters carefully, but it was nothing more than four bare gray walls and a glowing orb of pale light above her. She could find no scraps of civilization in the floor tiles, which could not be pried up, nor in the wood of the ceiling, which seemed to be held up by relentless magic. It was a tiny space, four feet by two, not even long enough that she could lie down and stretch her body out. It was short, too, just four feet high. She was forced to crouch or sit. If there was a door, which she assumed there must be, it had been carefully hidden, obvious only to those who knew how to use it. She ran her hands over the walls and even the ceiling, straining to touch it with her fingertips, to no use. No magical arch faded into being, as Harry had told her happened when Dumbledore touched the face of the rock cavern. She was trapped once more.

Her stomach had long been empty, and now it cried to her, shriveling in her stomach into a knotted ball of want. Ginny chewed at her fingernails, wishing it were more, until she realized they had begun to bleed and she stopped, ashamed. There was nothing to count in the pale light, no stimuli to ponder aside from her thoughts. None of which were pleasant, even as she contemplated her good fortune in her new surroundings.

A day's time passed in fretful wondering and lack of sleep before any noise could be heard aside from her own breathing and the tapping she'd done on her walls with her fingers, hoping to hear a fellow prisoner tap back. If there was anyone else kept near her, they weren't answering. A bright light outlined a circle halfway up the wall behind her, roughly the diameter of a small child, and she stood quickly, moving away from the light. A portal formed, and Ginny's heart dropped as she faced her former Headmaster's dark, emotionless eyes.

"The Dark Lord wishes to see you. I suggest you give him what he desires," Snape advised through gritted teeth. "He was most displeased when you injured Bella."

"She's injured?" Ginny could have kicked herself at her naïve tone. Snape sneered, and Ginny wanted to slap his face away. "Yes, she was sickly for a day, but she is looking forward to showing you just how fast she can recuperate, should you need . . . persuading," Snape offered silkily, and silence fell as Ginny's mind raced, filling in the obvious. She was to be tortured, and likely for a long time before they killed her. If Snape and Bella were here as well as Tom, this had to be headquarters. She was stuck in the worst place she could be.

She straightened her shoulders with bravery that didn't quite reach her heart and glared at his glassy, black eyes as he held the door open before her. "I don't need to be a murderer to be dangerous to you, Headmaster," she spat, and she pulled her arm out of his grasp, walking ahead of him down the hall to meet her fate.

Snape tsked behind her as they reached a crowd of leering Death Eaters twenty strong, clad in their robes but with their faces bare to her eyes. "You will not want to take that tone with the Dark Lord, I fear. He has suffered a great setback when the Potter boy escaped last night. You wouldn't happen to know where he'd go to rest up after a nice snake bite, would you?" came his silky challenge behind her. _Harry, bitten by Nagini? _Her blood was colder than the frozen bile on the cellar floor. Ginny emptied her face of all her terror and spun violently.

THWHACK! The great crack rang out across the room, and she heard angry jeers to her sides from the Death Eaters sitting, waiting for whatever spectacle she could offer them. Snape's face showed color for the first time in memory as a red handprint shaded his cheek scarlet.

"Leave him out of this, snake," she whispered venomously, and climbed steadily onto the dais where a white skinned man leveled her soul bare with blood red eyes. Ginny felt her breath leave her body.

_Tom_.

"I do not appreciate how you have treated your Headmaster, young lady," Voldemort spoke with a lethal quiet. Ginny was frozen to the spot, staring at the boy inside the man whom she'd confided in all those years ago. "He can't hear you, just be strong," she whispered in her head, but his red eyes held cold mirth as he laughed at her, chilling the room. "Oh, but I can, little girl- I can hear everything you think, everything you do- everything you want," he hissed, and Ginny closed her eyes and swallowed.

_You are a strong woman, and you will die with your head held high. _

The Cruciatus hit her without a sound, and suddenly she was screaming, unprepared for the violent shock it rent to her body. It went on and on, the most horrible wrenching pain she'd ever felt burning like tar covering her body, and then in an instant it was gone, and the pangs of ache she would be lucky to feel later, if she were alive, grabbed hold of her. Ten times worse than when Amycus crucio'ed her, eighteen more than Alecto, greater by far than Snape- and she raised her head and threw her best imitation of Ron's hand gestures to Voldemort amid the silence. He screamed senselessly and she was filled with excruciating pain once more. The curse lifted, and she sobbed into the ground, then wobbled, holding herself off the ground.

Another crucio hit her, and she felt lifted out of her body, thrown against walls covered in sharp, iron nails, broken glass, salt grinding into her wounds, and then it was gone again, and she was being dragged upright by invisible hands, forced to face Tom like a puppet on strings.

"Let us start with introductions, my friend," his voice caressed. "I am Lord Voldemort, and you are Ginny Weasley. You are a pureblood, my dear girl, though you likely have not been taught what it means to be so blessed, given your unfortunate upbringing; a proper home could see to that."

Ginny's eyes swiveled to see Lucius Malfoy, white but unshaken, his eyes pinned to hers, yet not seeing her. Alecto waved with a smirk from behind him, and white-hot anger swept through her, and she wished she had that nail back again, even from far away over here. She'd pound that bitch to a pulp for turning Luna over to those demons.

"You are powerful, as well, I am told- powerful enough to match some of my own, even though you are not yet of age, I have been told," Tom continued, his red eyes flashing as she drew her own back to him. "I would give you a wand to prove it, but I fear you'd harm yourself, trying to escape fruitlessly." Laughs rang out around her, and Ginny's anger spiraled.

"Give me a wand, and I'll fight any of your followers, and beat them. I'll show you exactly how fortunate my upbringing has been, Tom," she yelled, wanting to tear his smile off his face. This was the piece of shit who'd ruined her first year. This was the man – no, the beast- that had dirtied her mind, stolen Harry's parents, murdered and destroyed- this was the boy who had aimed at wand at her Harry, had smiled as he sent the deadly green curse-

Pain shot through her, and she gritted her teeth as a crucio ripped her bones apart, snapping her like a taut string.

_I am a strong woman. I will not scream. I will not beg. I will die with my head held up._

"Lies," Tom hissed, his voice carrying to her spot on the floor. There was malice, threatening in the air, circling around him. Ginny pulled herself up and glared at him again.

"Give me a wand, unless you're too afraid, Tom," she sneered, waiting for her death to come in a bright gleam of green. "If we go by your own rules, you shouldn't have one- you're a half-blood, remember?" and she pinched her eyes shut at his scream of fury. She was floating in pain, her body was writhing, and it went on and on.

_I'm sorry, Harry. But I will die with my head held high._

"W-what . . . I'm just trying . . . to be . . . honest, Tom," she panted from the floor. Angry calls were silenced by a hand she could not see. "If you're not honestly afraid, give me a wand. What's the worst a little girl like me could do?" she taunted.

"Selwyn, your wand, please. Let us hope it is an adequate fit," came the deadly offer, and a man hurried forward and jabbed her side with his long, black wand. Ginny twirled it once in her fingers, noting the three inches it had over her old charge and the width, which was notably thinner than her own. It felt elegant, smooth- like power could spill from it, rather than being forced; and she shocked herself into remembering it belonged to a Death Eater.

"Whom shall you tickle, Miss Weasley? I imagine Rictumsempra can't have changed much since my own school days," Voldemort smirked, cold eyes watching her fingers grasp the wand, turning it over. Heavy laughs rang out around the circular room, and Ginny's eyes ran around her stage, seeking cover or masked props. Nothing was nearby, not even any spare chairs- she would have to duel straight. Her mind raced, recovering the memory of a training session where she and Neville had dueled in the circles on the floor, bowing first for laughs, then sending spell after spell at one another. It had been tiring, working without any ground cover- and shields had been necessary. Wistfully thinking of the Protego Amaris she could use had she a partner, she shook herself internally. Now was not the time. She looked at her possible opponents, some eager, some eyeing her with scoffing, self-satisfied eyes. Very well, she thought with a grin. I'll let them underestimate me.

"I think I can take on two, Tom," she yelled obstinately, making her voice sound more girly. A titter ran around at her continued use of his name. She was shocked, to be honest, that he was being so lenient; she had expected death, or dismemberment at the very least. Voldemort, however, seemed to be curious, considering her as if trying to place where she could have heard his given name before.

_Not Snape, he knows what I'm made of_, her inner monologue directed. The Carrows were out, as well as Bella and Fenrir, who were sporting matching feral glares and fisted hands. Really, it was a good look for Bella, she giggled hysterically inside. Godric, she was going to die, here- in this dark, rotting hell-hole, with none of her family to comfort her. It was going to be long, and painful, and likely the worst experience she'd ever had- including the time Alecto had whipped her on Halloween- and Ginny was not backing down. She was shaking, but she was not leaving before she'd given them something to think about.

_I am a strong woman. I will die with my head held high. I cannot hurt unless I let them hurt me. I cannot be afraid unless I let them frighten me. I am a strong woman. I will die with my head held high._

Her mantra circled within as she closed in on eyes- some joking, some angry, some confused, others impudent, jeering.

"What will you do to my opponents, should they lose?" she asked solemnly, looking into Tom's curious face.

"Any servant of mine who can be bested by a little girl is no servant of use to me," Tom's mouth curled, deadly but whimsical, and Ginny twirled, her legs carrying her in a fake skip she felt no pleasure in.

"Well, I'll rule out my Professors, since they know me too well; Bella, _darling_, you're injured, I couldn't possibly expect you to tango on uneven footing-" here Bellatrix let out a snarl and a stunner hit her from the raised platform where Tom stalked. "My friend Mr. Greyback has already grappled with me once and lost," she grinned, wishing she felt an ounce of the bravado she was currently spewing. Her arms shook and she clenched them to her sides, avoiding the eyes of the others, who looked like diners licking their chops before the main course.

"So, any takers?" she yelled, and there was stunned silence. A low growl filled the floor and a man in black stepped up, throwing off his robe, followed by a second, squat man, whom Ginny recognized with a jolt as Marcus Flint, a boy from Quidditch. Flint looked like he'd filled out a lot more muscle, and Ginny bent to cut off her robe at her knees, severing the threads with her wand. She shot sparks into the air, testing her aim with the new wand, as the two circled her, stretching and glaring.

"Threesome then? Oh, goody," she shot with spite, leaning over with her wandless hand loping down to her side. They were never going to know what hit them.

The first few shots she jumped or ducked, her legs stretching to the catcalls and angry mutters behind her. Silence fell at a wave from Tom, who was eyeing the match with interest, as the two angry faces sent curses at her. Powerful beams missed her, their slow approach easy to avoid. They were sending blinding and burning curses at her, hard to cast and slow to send, and Ginny outran and outjumped these with grace. When she finally was forced to conjure a shield three minutes in, it was because they'd tried a new technique and sent curses above and below her, and she couldn't avoid both unless she rolled. Ginny threw her body to the side but the burn grazed her legs, and she resolved to use a shield for the time being, if only to ensure she didn't get singed.

She still had yet to attack either wizard, though they were getting good and mad, sending hex after jinx at her, beginning to add less powerful spells. Ginny sent up silvery shields, then gold ones as her body began to tire. She circled backwards, letting them follow her, drawing them into the pattern.

With a yell she advanced, sending a flurry of quick stunners across the stage, watching with a grim smile as the floor behind them rose like the tide and they tripped backwards. Flint responded with a growl and several powerful curses that left gouges the size of gnomes in the floor. Ginny knelt in one and fired over the edge at the taller man, spurting water to cover him and summoning the dust in the air to blind him. Angry bees swarmed around him, transfigured from the giant chandelier beads above, and the man screamed before a shield from his partner enveloped him. Ginny took advantage of their preoccupation by sending a blinding hex at Flint, who was forced to roll away into her successive cutting hexes. The first man was firing back a huge flame that made the onlookers gasp and move back, and Ginny felt her throat close in fear. _Fiendfyre_. She couldn't outrun it. Flames licked closer in her second of recognition and she lifted her wand, chanting the propulsion spell Amycus had taught them for Fiendfyre; the flames ate the floor and reversed, and she whispered in her head to the bright-hot tips: you are calming. Your job is done here. You will fall asleep until I call you again.

She peeked open her eyes to see the blackened dais and Voldemort, seething, encased in a protective gold sphere. The tall man was shaking, but Flint was nowhere to be seen. Ginny sent a cutting hex at the man and the battle returned, hexes flying, only two enemies circling one another through the ashes. Ginny shivered, despite the heat. She shot low hexes at his feet, trip jinxes followed by stunners, triangle-formation, a high rebounder, spells that used the floor to swallow him, spells that sent bat bogeys flying at him; she drew water from their goblets and encased him in a bubble charm, filling it with siphoned wine and brews. She screamed insults, then sent off a cloud of purple smoke and disillusioned herself. He shattered the bubble and sent the glass flying at her, and she lost her disillusion charm when bright cerulean waves crashed over the stage. Ginny transfigured the glass into a flock of Hermione's golden canaries and watched with a wild thrill in her heart as they soared like bullets after the stunned Death Eater. The floor felt hot beneath her feet. The man began screaming killing curses at her, and the green beams bounced beside her in a wave. Death was dancing with her, and she was running, pivoting, jumping, her body screaming in protest, aching as she moved, and she was slowing, but she must not stop; Ginny fired hexes she could barely remember at his blurred face, sent nonverbal stunners in strings, summoned a table from the room and bashed him with it, sending him flying. He returned with a stream of ice that chased her, snakes that sprung around her and struck, and a mass of floor that melted below her, burning her boots off. Their voices were ragged. Ginny's throat was sore, dry from yelling.

The man turned to taunting her. "Your dirty family should be wiped out for their disgrace to wizard kind! The Dark Lord will kill them all!" he screamed, but Ginny's wand flew faster, bolting him to the floor, covering him with conjured knives in heaps, drawing a cage out of thin air.

"WE WILL RIP YOUR PRECIOUS POTTER APART! WE WILL BLEED HIM DRY!" He screamed, spit flying, and Ginny moved, ripping the air. "SECTUMSEMPRA!" She roared, her wand darting and swooping, and for the second time in her life, great scarlet spurts erupted before her eyes.

There was silence apart from the gasping, gurgling breaths of the man on the floor before her, twitching, and she moved to seal his wounds, but Tom flicked his wand from behind her. Ropes bound her and she struggled, even as she knew he was likely already dead, whether she stopped the bleeding or not. She became aware of gashes stinging along her legs and back, the dizziness in her head, the weakness of her limbs; Tom's body was coiled like a snake before her, preparing to strike, and his wand dealt a green flash to the twitching mass. Ginny saw his searching, angry glare, and welcomed the darkness that fell.

It was less the déjà-vu she could have hoped for when she awakened. Her body was covered in blood and grime, almost unrecognizable. Her limbs were scratched and her muscles screamed to her with every tiny movement. Worse than the day after Quidditch finals, worse than the day after Halloween, more terrible than the night in the forest- and she was weaker than she'd ever been. She was back in her cell, but Snape was standing over her through the portal.

"The Dark Lord wishes to see you. Stand," he commanded, and Ginny groaned as she willed her back to stretch, pulling her legs up. She stumbled behind him, vaguely aware that her lips were cracked deeply and her hair was matted with blood. She ran her fingers through it, pulling out the clumps of blood, and pulled it behind her ears to see. Snape handed her a new robe and turned away, and Ginny quickly ripped her own off and slid the fresh robe over herself. He gazed at her in disgust and then opened a heavy door, and Ginny's spine went straight at the sight of a relaxed, easy Voldemort sitting on a plush green armchair before a roaring fire and a table.

She walked into the room, ignoring the threatening gaze from Bella, the only other occupant, and sniffed the array of food on the table with longing. Potatoes with butter, milk, pumpkin juice, green beans, a selection of pastries, and half a roast were spread across the table, and Ginny felt her stomach cry to her. Voldemort smiled cruely and popped three grapes lazily into his mouth. All was silent except the crushing of the water as it burst from each grape, and Ginny thought painfully of the Christmas morning breakfast she'd missed.

"I'm told you haven't eaten since your capture," Voldemort smiled, watching her face. Ginny blocked her anger. "You can have a meal, if you help me," he offered, and Ginny gave a derisive laugh. "I'm not interested in anything I could do that would benefit you," she cut in, and Tom flicked his wand, enfolding her in pain. The crucio held for a full minute before she was left panting on the floor.

"Manners, Ginny. I can call you Ginny, can I not?"

"You can call me Ginny, but I do not wish you to, Tom," she spat, and Voldemort's face tightened behind the white gleam of skin.

"Yes, I know your first name, and you know mine. How . . . charming," he hissed, and Ginny clenched her muscles. I will not fail you, Harry. Stay safe. Stay far away.

"I do admit I wondered how you had learned that my given name was Tom, before I became what I am today," he questioned, and pumpkin juice slid down his throat while Ginny watched, her lips burning.

"It was something I heard," she offered, and his eyes pierced hers.

"You heard it from Dumbledore?"

"Yes."

"He told you I was called Tom?"

"Yes."

"Was this the first time you had heard of my name?"

Ginny paused, cornered, and Voldemort's smile spread wide.

"Who else told you I was Tom, little girl?" he demanded softly, danger laced between the words, and Ginny pulled her face blank. "A friend from school."

A second bout of Crucio brought her to her knees, and when the pain stopped she found herself curled like a newborn kitten. Voldemort's red eyes gazed down at her, raking into her mind. She pulled up her walls, and after a minute of sleek searching, he became frustrated and began to beat at her mind.

Ginny endured an hour of questions, mostly about her family and her connections to Dumbledore. She was exhausted to the point she could not fall asleep when she was dragged back to her cell, and Bella had been given her fun after Voldemort grew tired. She set Ginny's socks on fire, making her leap to put them out again and again, and forced her back into a chair, near-drowning her with water from her wand. Ginny was spent. Her body felt crushed and she leaked water over the ground of her cell. The one positive was she was no longer thirsty, and her hair had been partially cleaned in the process. Once alone, she yanked the salve and potions out of her bra and gulped down half of her portion of pain potion. Burn cream healed the deep blackened stubs that had once been her toes. She sat in the room, staring at her skin as it regrew, and felt tears leak down her cheek, stinging the cut that Bella had given her. Likely, it would scar. She examined her arms, which had various cuts, some deep, some scratches, and her legs, which carried the faint lines of cutting hexes from Alecto and new ones from her dueling opponents. A deep, jagged line ran across her palm from the glass she'd used to break the case in the Headmaster's office, and there were three lines across her back where the whip had ripped deep, leaving her physical proof of that ghastly Halloween. White lines circled her legs lightly where shackles had chaffed and held her once. Those too were permanent. She sighed and more tears trickled down. She knew Harry would still think her lovely, scars or not, but could she still think so after she was covered in angry red lines?

The portal opened near the end of the second day of waiting, and Peter Pettigrew set down a tray of food. Ginny fell upon it, ravenous, and gulped down the goblet of water, which refilled itself. She did not care if it were poisoned; the bread tasted sweet to her tongue, and she chewed hurriedly on the chicken on her plate, which was dry but filling. She was past caring. Her stomach filled quickly, and she felt nauseous. Peter dawdled, seemingly put-off from talking to her, but unable to leave, and she studied his nervous, beady eyes and sweaty upper lip.

"I used to pet you, d'you remember?" she asked quietly. Pettigrew gave her a shifty, uncomfortable glance, then returned his eyes to the tray. "You liked it when I scratched your ears. I didn't think you were anything more than a rat, to be honest," she said, and Peter's lip wobbled a bit.

"I think if you told Harry you were sorry, he'd listen. He might not forgive you, but he'd understand," she said softly, and Pettigrew slammed the portal door, leaving her tray on the floor. Ginny chewed in silence, tearing off hunks of bread and slowly consuming the whole plate. She drank and refilled her goblet six times and then lifted her robe and squatted in the corner, wishing she had some other way to relieve herself. Fumes from the urine stank as her room went dark, signaling nighttime.

Another day passed, and she lost count of how many hours she'd been waiting alone. Bellatrix dragged her into the big stage room again, forcing her to play keep-away, casting burning and cutting hexes at Ginny as she ran and stumbled. Her shrieks filled the air, and finally Ginny fell and let Bella kick and pound at her with her wand, trying to fall unconscious. She awoke in her room, and pulled her tender arms up to spread the last of the burn cream on her legs and belly. She swallowed the pain potion and gulped down more water, and held back the bile that threatened to come up her throat. Watching her legs regain their peachy, pale color, she tapper her toes against the floor. Tom must be busy, because otherwise he would be questioning her again. He knew she was close to Harry, though it seemed as of yet he had no clue she was the girl who had opened his diary years before. Snape and Lucius had kept their mouths shut, for whatever their reasons. She was grateful for the respite.

It was not to last. Ginny awoke the next day to a crippling pain, looking up to see Tom standing over her, a glint lighting his eyes to a fearsome blood red. Grey shadows swept from his wand to her exposed shoulder, and she pulled away, frantic, but found she was frozen. Voldemort released her from the spell and the portal closed. Ginny pulled back her locks to see a sickly black rose, faint but growing darker, covering her shoulder, the stem running down her arm, a snake's head at it's end. Pettigrew entered the room and forced a burning potion down her throat. "It activates the curse," he said tersely, and Ginny fell to her side, shaking. There was nothing in her stomach to throw up.

The next day she stretched in her cell and relieved herself, trying to ignore the throbbing burn of the curse on her arm, and set to tearing more strips off her old robe, set on making bandages for the next session. Pettigrew brought her bread that she stuffed in her mouth at once, and he led her to Voldemort's chambers. She was light as a feather, walking the hallway that seemed bright somehow, and Pettigrew grew unnerved when she began to whistle like she were going to a dull lecture. Ginny felt dead, but no fear stiffened her legs or weighted her head. She could be killed, but somehow, this wasn't what scared her. Harry was still alive, and as long as he was out there, there was hope.

_I am a strong woman. I am powerful. I am intelligent. He cannot make me hurt unless I let him. He cannot make me cry unless I let him. I am a powerful woman. I will die with my head held up. _

Voldemort seemed furious when she entered the room. He slammed into her brain immediately, and Ginny felt her legs give under her as he assailed her mental defenses. For an hour they were locked, the queerest staring contest in history, until Voldemort screamed in fury and sent waves of crucios at her, draining her body. Ginny lay on the ground, screaming in pain and then returning to her somber ignorance of Tom's demands.

"WHERE IS POTTER?! WHERE IS YOUR HERO NOW?!" He taunted, and she felt her brain begin to slip into a trillion tiny pieces, whirling like pixie dust through her mind. "TELL ME WHERE POTTER IS, AND I WILL SPARE YOUR LIFE!" but Ginny laughed and called his bluff, screaming that she did not know.

"YOU WILL NEVER FIND HIM TOM! HE IS SAFE FROM YOU!" she cried, and he stopped, quivering in anger, and eyed her. "You would die for your hero, little girl?" he jeered. Ginny lay low. The curse on her arm jolted through her, throbbing anew.

"He would not die for you. He would run and let you fall. Potter does not fight his own battles," he spat at her, and Ginny sat up, enraged.

"He's saved me from you before! I don't need him to fix you, I could take you myself!" she screamed, knowing she was going too far, and then the room was still.

"When have I attacked you? If you refer to my followers, I cannot be held accountable for their actions," his voice slithered, and Ginny shuddered.

"You will not tell me? I can find it for myself, whelp," he hissed, and Ginny was unprepared for the strike at her mind. She saw scenes from her past year fly by, heard Neville's voice telling her that Frumpy Tits was a great one, felt Harry's lips on hers, saw her hero-worship day dreams from her first year . . . Harry was standing close to her in the shortcut where he'd discovered her and Dean, and he was pulling her close, grinning, and his hands were trailing over her chest, and she was purring as she kissed his neck . . . she was flying with Demelza, trying to surf on her broom, and she lost her balance, and Harry scooped her out of thin air at forty feet above the ground and cradled her, flying down to her broom . . . she was dancing with Lee, and Barny-Harry was watching her with a wistful, longing look . . . she was eleven, and a tall, green wall stretched before her, and she was crying to short, scrawny Harry, who was covered in blood and ink and held up the diary, pierced by a massive, curved fang . . .

"NOOO!!!!" came the shattering scream, and pain wracked her body. Her mind floated up, yearning to seek heaven above, and she was screaming and crying as her skull cracked from the pressure. "YOU! YOU ARE THE GIRL!" Voldemort cried, and Ginny fell back into her body, sobbing.

_I'm sorry, Harry! I couldn't hold him back! I'm sorry!_

And shouts rang out. His followers flew into the room and then fled quickly back, and Ginny lay on the ground, relieved as he took out his anger at those who had boldly walked into his chambers. Shouts and bangs surrounded her, and she lay still, hoping he would mistake her for dead. Blood trickled from her forehead, and she had stopped shaking. She was past gone. One flick, and he was sure to finish her, sure to wipe the evidence of his secret from her mind- she was dead, already, lying here, wanted to die, wanted it to be over- Harry's face filled her mind, and she felt a tear, when she hadn't thought there were any left to cry, seep out. _Harry. Her Harry._

She opened her eyes in a haze of pain and looked around. Bodies littered the ground. A polished glint caught her eye._ A wand. _

Ginny looked up, and Voldemort was facing away from her, pacing maniacally. Sparks flew from the tip of his wand as he muttered, and he screamed for Bella to leave. Ginny lay motionless, stilling her breaths, until he walked behind the curtains near his bedchamber and disappeared, his footsteps telling her when he moved. She inched forward, and every movement was hell. Her muscles cramped and she stifled a moan. Blood dripped into her eye. _What was she thinking? That she could duel Voldemort? _

She was close enough to see the end of the wand, still clamped in the hand of the dead wizard who had fallen. _Where do I want to be when I die_, she thought wryly, almost hysterical. In her mind she saw the crashing waves of the sea, the smell of salt in the air, the cool wind whipping over her skin, her hair blowing behind her. Ginny rose up just as Tom's figure came gliding like ice slipping over the creek into the room.

_They stared at one another, wide red meeting hazel, as Ginny clasped the wand tight. Just as he recognized the wooden tip protruding from her fingers, she spun, and his scream of fury burst in her ears. Sea salt filled her nose, caressed her gently, tingling her cuts. She collapsed, aware of yelling and hoarse shouts from far away. Pounding feet thudded beside her. Bare hands turned her over frantically, and her fathers' blue eyes searched hers. Home. She was home._

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_Reviews, pleease. This was a challenge for me to write, and I'd love to hear what you thought. Realistic? Too outlandish? Too wordy? Confusing? Let me know. _

_Next up: Fleur, who has a certain proposition for our favorite sneaky, cowardly thief . . .  
_


	28. Hidden in Plain Sight

I lied, sorry! It was an accident- Fleur is up next, and Dung is making his entrance!

Cheers,

Jenna

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28

Draco

He was as shaken as he'd ever been. _What_ _had the idiot been thinking?_ He was risking everything! What if the Dark Lord thought he'd been in on the plot? Theodore Nott was a dead man. Draco was aiding and abetting at this moment for his oldest friend, the boy he'd spent every horrible summer party rolling eyes with.

Theo looked troubled in his sleep, rolling in the blankets Draco had conjured. Draco couldn't blame him. How did it feel to sleep for the last time? Nott snored like it was his last meal, some twisted rite of passage into the afterlife; he thrashed, overcome by a nightmare, no doubt, of the red eyes that were soon to find his and bleed him out, and Draco wrung his hands and paced to the study. Mother mustn't find Nott here. The manhunt had already begun. Bella was on the hunt, enraged that the Weasley girl had escaped- and from the Dark Lord's private quarters! Draco knew his mother's mind was weak; she could never hide something of this magnitude from the Dark Lord's conscience. He would smell it on her the minute she came into the room.

His friend was already an orphan for his crime. He had taken the news surprisingly well, as though he had expected the worst and was relieved that his father's death had been quick. If Nott felt any remorse that he had been the cause of the execution, he was not saying so; his body was thoroughly beaten, but he had stared at the wall, nodded, and then returned to Draco's chambers, falling into a deep, restless sleep.

Draco and Nott had spent years together in their youth, sharing a tutor before Hogwarts, placed in the same house and classes in school, going home for the holidays to Malfoy Manor. Nott's mother had died after his birth at the Dark Lord's bidding, when her parents had refused to procure rare poisons for the Dark Lord from their apothercary. His father had wanted little to do with his son, now that his heir was born. Narcissa had a soft spot for the young pureblood, who was more polite at the age of seven than Draco was at seventeen. Nott was somber for a young boy, his mouth a perpetual frown, and Narcissa had always loved spoiling her only son. She'd adopted Nott officially into the Manor during the summer after their first year and the two boys had raced matching Nimbus brooms around the huge grounds, trailing the river Draco secretly loved to fish in.

By the end of their third year, they had learned to distance themselves in school. It would not do for any Slytherin to appear overly fond or close to his fellows; friendship was a sign of weakness and gullibility. The boys had kept their companionship to notes, meeting outside in warm weather and in the privacy of the dungeons for wizards' chess and dividing up the packages Narcissa packed with strict instructions that Draco share his loot. Draco had found by third year he didn't mind.

In the winter of their sixth, surrounded by the shadow of the fate Draco had drawn, the boys came home to a reserved, gloomy Manor, the huge rooms no longer hide-and-spell venues or wide hallways made for games of flying chicken. They did not speak of the task Draco had been given. Narcissa remained alternatively despondent or aloof, and she threw herself into creating the cheer that the house's occupants so clearly lacked. The Manor was resplendent, and for the first time in memory, Narcissa insisted that the boys and she decorate the tree themselves. Lucius belittled his wife, arguing that she was involving the boys in a Muggle pastime, but Narcissa was a Black. The boys decorated that goddamn tree.

Twelve feet tall and spanning ten at the bottom, it was a magnificent full evergreen. Nott had strung shiny fairie lights for days over the branches, while Narcissa had directed a sour-faced but secretly pleased Draco in hanging the family heirloom ornaments, which numbered in the thousands. Some were ivory and ebony, precious metals, or carved wooden figurines, while others were cantering thestrals, hippogriffs, and glass dragons that spewed real flames. Lucius had deigned to hang his family crest- by wand- on one of the upper branches, and had assisted a determined Narcissa in looping bunches of mistletoe throughout the tree. It was a side of his father Draco had rarely seen; the day he broke his leg flying, and his father had healed it himself; the night before he left for Hogwarts his first year; the kiss he'd interrupted in his father's office in fifth; and the time, try as he might to forget it, he'd walked into the dining room to see his mother sprawled under his father on the table, who was tenderly caressing her hair. Lucius Malfoy was not the type of man to partake in frivolity or family bonding.

It was a hair that had started it all that Christmas. Nott had handed two bulbs of clear, delicate glass that played nursery rhymes when touched with a wand. They were the last ornaments in a box that had held Narcissa's dowry ornaments- her precious Black family treasures. The box had included a Black family crest of solid gold, a striped witches' hat with real jade from China, a collection of famous Wizard figurines in precious metals made by Raphael himself, a series of birds charmed to sing "God Rest Ye Merry Hippogriffs" from their posts, and a trio of miniature floating wishing stars, encased in translucent bubble charms. Each nursery rhyme bulb also held a single lock of hair- baby hair- from the two sisters: Bella and Cissy. Andromeda's was conspicuously absent.

Neither boy had missed the significance those hairs presented. With a vial of polyjuice, Bella's dark hair could be seen in Hogwarts- Diagon Alley- Hogsmeade- while she was hundreds of miles away. The opportunities for practical jokes went unscrutinized: for Draco, there were bigger fish to fry. His aunt was going to pay for her abuse.

It had not been difficult to pilfer the ornament after the holidays that Christmas, but the glass bauble lay forgotten in Nott's trunk, the least likely of the two to be searched, for a year now. When Theo had heard that Ginny Weasley, the girl he'd long nursed a soft-spot for to Draco's perpetual annoyance, had been captured and was being held hostage, he had taken matters into his own hands with an intensity Draco had never seen before in his friend. Perhaps it had been the firewiskey the two had consumed long into that night that made Theo bold- or insane, depending on your perspective, Draco acknowledged. To him, insanity won out. Maybe it had been the trauma Theo had endured when he had failed to earn his mark at the attack on Diagon Alley, or the torture he'd seen. Theo always was a softie when it came to violence, Draco knew. He was quiet, a loner- but that did not mean he did not hear what people said and did to others around him. Possibly it had been the growing need to throw off the chain of command both the boys were being slowly ground down under, to tell the Death Eaters, the Dark Lord, and Slytherin himself to go shag themselves. Draco didn't know, and he didn't care to find out- all that mattered now was that Nott had entered the Dark Lord's headquarters dressed as Bella, polyjuiced and with vocal charms in place, only to come face to face with the real Bellatrix, who had come close to killing him with a violent severing charm. The polyjuice began to wear off. Nott's father had witnessed the duel, and upon realizing it was his son, had thrown a stunner at Bella, trying to stop the death of his heir. It was the moment that stopped time: Nott Jr. had apparated away, and his father had been executed in his place by the Dark Lord himself, assumed to be aiding his son. Nott had –somehow- managed to come straight through the wards on Malfoy Manor to the last place he would be looked for- the prison cellar.

Draco had found Nott passed out, whey-faced and bleeding heavily, in the evening when he'd come down to bring Ollivander, Luna, and the others their dinner. The Looney girl- Luna- had given a frenetic Draco one of the fake galleons he knew Weasley would have, and Draco had followed her instructions to a T, covering Nott, healing his wounds, and then signaling the Weasleys for assistance, asking if they had a place Nott could hide.

_The Weasleys. He had stooped to ask __**the Weasleys**__ for help. _

Draco didn't think he'd ever look Weasel in the face again.

Now all he had to do was ask one of the house elves to take them to the meeting spot in two hours time. Until then, he had to keep the boy warm- hydrated- and reapply some basic healing spells Looney- fine, Luna- had suggested. With luck it would never be known Nott had been here, and the Order would be able to keep him safe, get him out of the country.

Draco gripped his glass tighter and resumed his pacing, waiting for the feather on his desk to light up as the signal. Two hours and twenty-three minutes and . . . six seconds . . . to go. What he couldn't know was that Theodore Nott had no intention of hiding from the Dark Lord who'd taken away his family and his safety. In fact, Theodore was feeling quite a bit . . . rebellious.

And as the sole heir to his family's Manor, he had quite a lot of assets at his command.

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For any who were wondering . . . Bella, as a Black, does not need to be in the Fidelius to find Grimmauld Place. They have hidden the Order Headquarters, but she needs only to wish to find her ancestor's home, and she can see Grimmauld. For her, it is first and foremost the Black estate. Snape has not told her the location- he could not even if he wished to, as his tongue is tied whenever he attempts to utter Grimmauld's location. Death Eaters know where it is, but cannot see it until Yaxley gets in by grabbing Hermione. That news had not reached the Weasleys, though Kingsley has already set up new wards, which effectively shut out all except Bella and Narcissa, who have Black blood.


	29. Beauty Shop

Thanks for the reviews- I live for comments and suggestions! I tend to write faster when I've had some reviews and few readers take the time to let me know what they think, so please do!

As promised, Fleur- French, funny, and fabulous- and some sisterly bonding, Phlegm-style. Ginny really needs a big sister right now!

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29

Fleur

"So, you weel be able to take 'er to ze school, no?"

"I moughta guessed yeh'd be askin' for me help again, but after whot Potter done, I didn' think you'd go after old Dungie again,"

"I do not cair what 'Arry has said to you, you owe zis family for what you did when Mad-Eye died. George lost 'is ear, you know."

"S'not my bleedin' fault, Miz Flour! I didn't never say I wanted to be in it, an Mad-Eye just up and volunteered me, and that was Bleedin' You-Know-Oo comin' at me, and I just scrambled! I didn' do whot any sane wizard wouldn'! An anyways, I don' gotta help none of yous now, Frenchie- i's ev'ry man for hiself now, an I'll be lookin' out for ole Dungie since nobody else is gonna-"

"Oh, I think you'll be doing exactly as she's asking, Dung. Do it or we're cancelling all our business, and once this shit is over, you'll be in Azkaban for what we've got on you for three lifetimes worth of looking out for Old Dungie," Fred growled low, and Fleur felt the delicate blonde hairs on her arm stand on end. Dung was standing, his hangdog eyelids no longer drooping, smelling of malt-whiskey and smoke and three-day old sweat, and he was scratching his head.

"Well now, no reason to get all tetchy about it, George- s'not like our business cuts into yer family," Dung started saying, but Fred was having none of it. Without warning he'd seized Dung's collar and pressed him up against the wall, his face leering close like a keening death call.

"You'll be helping Gin back into school if she wants it, and you know you're the only one who can do it. Consider it a business partnership. You keep us from skinning your filthy thieving hide, and we give you some money for your pains," he rumbled, and Dung shifted his eyes side to side. Fred did not correct his blunder.

Fleur almost wanted to grin; Dung was so like her cousin Marte, the one her father pretended was an apothecary instead of a drug pusher.

"Right, well, I'll be back a' Monday, and we'll see then if I can afford to take 'er," Dung was stammering, and then he fled and Fred sunk into his chair, sighing.

"Think I scared him off?"

"No. He weel be back, he needs ze gold. I do not theenk Dung has many ozair customers," Fleur smiled. Patting Fred on the shoulder, she hurried into the guest room that had only recently been emptied of Ronald's things and was presently filled with Ginny and Bill, who looked up, exhausted, and accepted the cup of tea she proffered gratefully.

"She iz better, no?" Fleur whispered. Bill nodded, wiping sweat off his brow. He'd ceased breaking the nasty curse on her arm ten minutes ago, and Ginny's color was returning. The black rose had faded to grey the moment he'd finished, but Fleur knew, looking at the snake's head, that these scars would not fade. She shuddered, thinking of her own arms covered in such filth, and resolved to speak to Ginny about some concealment charms. The girl would not want to be reminded of her ordeal every morning while choosing her outfit.

Fleur examined the single petal that was lying near the snake's jaws. "What would it 'ave done to 'er, cherie?" she asked quietly. Bill grimaced painfully.

"It's the Rip Van Winkle curse. Caster is given an extra few years' youth by feeding on a younger victim. Ginny aged a whole year, technically, overnight. The rose is youth, and each petal is a year-once each petal has fallen, the snake bites. She would have aged a decade in a week's time. It speeds up the longer it takes hold. The snake bite would have cremated her, alive," Bill shuddered, and Fleur had already cried out and wrapped her arms around her husband.

" Ow 'orrible," she whispered, and the two were silent, trying not to ponder the could-have-beens. It had taken over six hours to break the complex curse that Bill had never even seen before, though Kingsley had recognized it in an instant with a sick look on his usually stoic face.

"What else 'ave you healed?" Fleur asked, pulling back the covers and scourgifying her sister-in-law once more. "I didn't think there would be more," Bill replied worriedly, and the two took an hour to slowly seal up cuts, rub burn cream into blistered skin, and fix the broken bones in her leg that had been reset improperly. Ginny's body was covered in six days worth of sweat, grime, and caked blood, and her fingernails were stuffed with scab-pickings and dirt. Bill pulled out a pocket-knife and slowly filed and cleaned her nails, buffing them as Fleur chuckled, washing Ginny's feet and legs. The wash rag went slowly higher, and Fleur pulled up her dress, knowing Ginny would be happier if she were clean, and came close to screaming.

Tiny rows of claw marks, oozing yellow pus, covered her thighs. Bill was shaking with anger, his eyes fixed on the offending marks, and Fleur unbuttoned Ginny's robe and threw the disgusting garment away, revealing her underwear and bra, which were thankfully intact. Three more tiny claw marks ran across her belly, bare scratches but obviously cursed, and a single line ran up between her breasts, as though her bra had been snapped by powerful claws.

"Beel, get my robe and 'airbrush, and ze lotion. I need my theengs. Get some air, we weel ask 'er later," Fleur said gently, drops sliding down her cheeks. Bill was shaking violently as he cried silent tears and he could not even nod in reply. Fleur sat down and looked at the yellow lines that striped down Ginny's left thigh. Four. There were four on her left. There were two more on her right. These were tiny nicks, and would likely heal completely within a few more days. The others would reopen, like Bill's did under stress.

She would never be healed physically, at least not forever. Fleur didn't want to contemplate the emotional healing about to begin.

Bill shuffled in and dumped the soft blue silk robe, new underwear, and some of Ginny's favorite socks onto the bed. He returned twice more, hugging Fleur close each time as though trying to suck out the comfort she offered, bringing the soft-bristled hairbrush he'd bought her as a wedding present, a magical razor, an assortment of soaps and lotions, and finally, with a bit of a watery grin, Fleur's nail polishes. The light turquoise pot glimmered in the low light from the window, and Fleur wound her arms around her husband and rested her head on his shoulder.

"She will be fine, love. She is strong, 'our seester. Ginny will heal," she said softly, and Bill nodded and left, closing the door with a soft tap.

Fleur turned to the girl lying on her favorite ocean-blue sheets, who was rosy now but still terribly thin. The bruises were gone. She picked up a bar of soap and set to washing the rest of Ginny's body, taking care to clean the new cuts they'd discovered. A vial of specially formulated dittany later, they were sealed, but still leaked occasionally. Fleur wrapped the cleaned wounds with gauze and spelled it to hold fast. She levitated Ginny with wandless magic, a feat she was sure would have impressed her husband, had he been here. Spelling the underwear to switch places with the dirty ones, she removed Ginny's bra and gently cleaned the tender flesh, which was thankfully clear of the horrible wounds. The magic razor zipped over her legs carefully, avoiding the cuts with delicate, precise strokes. "I always theenk zat 'aving nice, smooth legs iz ze best feeling," she offered to her sleeping sister.

The robe she tied at the waist of her charge, adjusting blankets over her legs and hips, and then she rubbed lotion into Ginny's arms, concentrating on moving the muscles that were sure to ache once she woke. Bit by bit, the room filled with the clean scent of fresh coconut, and Fleur massaged her back muscles, flipping Ginny over gently, and then her calves and lower thighs. She filed down toenails, adding a deep ruby red laquer to the smooth, tiny digits, and studied her new sister's face, worn and tired looking even in slumber.

"You 'ave been vairy brave, Geeny," Fleur said softly, knowing she could not hear her. "I do not know what 'appened yet, but I know zat you will find a way to fix your heart and feel safe once more, someday. I 'ope I can help you. I know 'ow it feels to have someone control you. You and I are not ze women who can take zis treatment," she continued, pouring water into a deep bowl. "We are not meant to be caged by a man."

Slowly, she filled bowl after bowl with fresh water, shampooing the tangled, dingy red hair until it shone, thick and strong. Pulling out her shears, she trimmed away the ends, getting rid of singed, damaged bits. Fleur ran the brush through the hair again and again, gently untangled the gnarls as she spoke, telling Ginny of her own encounter.

"I was eighteen. I had just met your brozzer, actually," she recalled, remembering their first date with relish. "I was in ze vault, leading a customer to zair second holding, and ze man was acting very strangely. I know I am beautiful. I knew it zen. I just did not theenk it would be dangerous," she said, setting aside the brush and drawing her wand gently over the locks, drying them bit by bit.

"He was touching me, pulling at my 'air, trying to kiss me," Fleur admitted softly. "I told him I did not weesh to kiss him, but 'e laughed and pressed me against ze stones, saying 'e would pay me, and I screamed, but we were in ze lower vaults; zere iz no one to hear. Beel came down to bring ze account statement for ze man, who was trying to get my robe off, and we were fighting. I did not have my wand. Beel sent 'im into ze stone, three feet deep. Ze goblins made ze idiot empty 'is account and leave, but not before I got half 'is gold," she smiled, grimacing, but Ginny did not comment as she slept on. "I was so scaird zat Beel would not want to kiss me, now zat zis man had touched me, but he told me I was better zan any of ze diamonds or treasures in ze world. You do not tarnish like ze silver, or get lost like ze gems; you shine like ze gold, 'e told me, and he held me to 'im. Your brozzer is a vairy special man, Geeny, and you are a special woman. You are stronger zan you theenk, and your heart cannot be touched by ze evil in zis world. You weel be hurt, yes, Cherie, but you cannot be stopped."

Finished with her story, she pulled out the pale turquoise nail polish and gently grasped Ginny's hand, adding her last touches. Ginny looked healthier, her skin clean and soft, her hair curling on the pillow in fiery waves. Fleur turned to get the tray Bill had promised to cook for his sister, deciding it was time to get some nourishment in her, conscious or not. And perhaps a pain potion, what was sure to be the first of many.

"Thank you, Fleur," came the soft whisper from beside her. Ginny's eyes were open, bleary but focused, and Fleur closed her mouth and clasped her hands warmly. "I am glad we had zis talk, my seester," she said gently. "Would you like to eat?"

Ginny nodded fervently, seeming to awaken, and Fleur hurried into the kitchen, where Fred was arguing with Bill about Ginny's favorite dessert.

"I'm telling you, it's treacle tart, she used to inhale it after matches," Fred was insisting, while Bill spooned cream on top of the most ravishing confection Fleur had ever seen him whip up. Few knew that in his years as pseudo babysitter, tutor, and older-brother-extraordinaire, Bill had acquired the ability to cook gourmet-standard comfort food, courtesy of his mother's talented teaching- a skill that had only been improved by his experiences with foreign dishes abroad. A side of Thai noodles stir-fried with vegetables was paired with chunks of Ginny's favorite fruit, pineapple, and some hunks of mouth-watering beef. Cold, frothy milk ran down the edge of a glass, and by all this, Bill was scooping his homemade buttermilk-strawberry ice cream onto a hot scone, scattering cubed strawberries around the sugary heaven. Fred was whipping cream and powdered sugar together with cherry schnapps for the topping, while debating the likelihood that Ginny's stomach would reject the heavy beef. The two stopped when Fleur came closer, standing at attention.

"How is she? Is she awake yet?" Bill asked swiftly. "She iz resting, and I 'ave washed her 'air and cut it a bit. I painted 'er nails and such, she will feel better when she feels lovely," Fleur offered. "She iz ready for 'er supper, and I theenk the beef will be fine," she said.

Fred sat down in the chair, putting his hands over his eyes. "Is it true? Did G-Greyback rape her?"

Fleur sat down and rubbed his back gently.

"I do not know what 'as 'appened to her yet, but I weel ask 'er, once I theenk she is ready. We must be patient. She has been through much, even eef Greyback only cut her," Fleur advised. Bill nodded sagely and pulled them both into a hug. "You should update Mum before she beats Dad up and gets in here, wards or not," he told Fred, who finished the whipped topping, licking the spoon, and left to tell the others that Ginny was awake and eating. The three finished making the plate and Fleur carried the tray out to the guest room, humming as she went.

"Do you have enough blankets and pillows?" she asked as she came in. Ginny was sitting up, looking at her hair in the hand mirror that Fleur had wisely left on the bed.

"I take it you cut my hair? If it were Bill I'd have a pixie cut, and if it were one of the twins, I'd be bald," she joked half-heartedly, and Fleur nodded and smoothed it down with her hand. "Yes, I thought you might like a trim," she answered. Ginny thanked her and tucked into her dinner avidly.

"So you heard everyzing I was saying, earlier?" she asked, and Ginny nodded. "I just felt sick still, and it was nice to lie there," she offered.

Fleur smiled. "Yes, it iz always good to have your bruzzer brush my hair. He iz very good at it, no? I assumed you were ze one who taught him 'ow to do zis for girls," and Ginny grinned. "Bill's the best at that. Charlie goes too fast and Percy talked too much. The twins would sooner turn it green or put gum in it. And Ron was just- well- Ron," she said quietly.

"You are vairy lucky to have such wonderful brozzers, and we are very lucky you are safe again, and alive," Fleur said softly, and Ginny looked down at her plate and dug into the dessert.

"This is amazing," she moaned happily, and Fleur stole a bit with the lonely spoon.

"Do you want some pain potion? I 'ave zis as well as some pepper up and your muzzer sent some sleeping potions for later, so zat you weel have no dreams," Fleur suggested. Ginny pursed her lips, frowning.

"I don't want to get addicted to that sleeping stuff again. I did after . . . after first year, for awhile. I reckon Bill told you?"

"Yes, but only zis week. Everyone else knew zat ze Chief Death Eater would be interested in you for zis, if he knew, and your muzzer was mad with her worry. Zey feared you would be killed, even without ze ransom," Fleur explained, and Ginny's mouth dropped.

"There was a ransom?" She asked, nonplussed.

"It was not money. It was 'Arry," Fleur said quietly. "'E does not know you were taken. Zere was no way he would have heard, ze Death Eaters only contacted your family. None of us told 'im, zo I do not know how ze patronus might have reached him, if he has ze right wards up to hide zem. Your mozzer was frantic. She wanted 'Arry to come and help, but your bruzzers did not let 'er. Bill and Charlie told 'er zat you would not want 'Arry to put himself in danger, and zey started planning a break-in to get you out. Zen while zey were gazzering here, you apparated in. It was vairy scary for zem. Beel saw you and thought zat your body had been portkeyed in; it iz a new tactic zey have been doing," Fleur explained.

"Bill was the one who found me? I thought it was Dad," Ginny mused.

"Zey have ze same kind, blue eyes. Ron has zem as well."

"So Harry doesn't know? He's safe?" Ginny asked urgently. Fleur smiled kindly.

"No. 'e is safe, somewhere. Eef he knew, 'e would already be here, asking Beel what ze plan was." Ginny was quiet, and Fleur took another spoonful of the massive melting shortcake.

"They were right. I don't want him to give himself up just for me. I'd die if he did," Ginny admitted, playing with her fork in the cream. Puffs of pink foam dipped and swirled on the tip. "Where is Mum? I kind of expected her to suffocate me with hugs once I woke up," she added, not noting the thought they both acknowledged in the air: _if_ she woke up.

"Molly iz at Muriel's. She was vairy upset and Beel could not work on breaking ze curse while she was crying, so your fazzer took her back with Charlie and George. Fred stayed to stand guard, even zo we have a Fidelius, in case zere was a tracking spell on you. Zere is not, do not fear. You are very safe here," she said, seeing Ginny's fearful glance.

"So that curse thing is gone?" Ginny asked, looking at the crass tattoo on her arm.

"It is not active. Beel got rid of ze magic, but ze picture . . . I am sorry, but it weel not come off. I can show you 'ow to hide it for weeks at a time wif my Maman's charms," Fleur apologized. Ginny's eyes filled with momentary tears that disappeared as she yanked down the sleeve of the robe.

The room was quiet, and Fleur let her mind rove thoughtlessly, subtly ignoring the sniffle that sounded.

"Why is there a petal off the rose?" Ginny asked.

Fleur sighed and explained the curse, leaving out the way the snake killed. Ginny could assume it was a poison that sent the victim into a painless slumber. Voldemort had already stolen her childhood; he would not steal her imagination.

Ginny was quiet for some time, contemplating her almost-fate, and Fleur gracefully prepared the pain potion and offered her the pepper-up. She broke the silence to breach their most serious subject.

"Geeny, I need to ask you somezing. I know zis will be painful, but I need to know ze truth, so we can heal you. Can you tell me 'ow you got ze cuts on your belly and your legs?"

Instantly she feared the worst as Ginny seemed to pull back under the covers, trembling, and the tears finally came. Sobs wracked her petite frame, and Fleur crawled onto the bed in a flash and cradled her, rocking her back and forth and humming her Maman's lullaby. Fifteen minutes of crying later, Fleur relaxed her arms, relieved; Ginny had told between gasped breaths a tale that chilled Fleur's heart, but did not break it. She had fought Greyback well, and Fleur felt pride and love for her sister overflow.

"I told you zat you were vairy brave," she said, and Ginny smiled weakly but shook her head. "I don't feel it much right now," she said. Fleur scoffed and asked her to repeat again how she had escaped.

"If zis iz not courage, facing zat snake and yelling for 'im to let you fight 'is Death Eaters, I do not know what iz," she said fiercely, and Ginny scooted back, smoothing the covers.

"Your 'Arry is very brave too, no?" Fleur inquired.

"Yes. Harry is brave. Too brave. But I don't think I can call him mine," came the forlorn reply.

Fleur straightened her shoulders. "Zat boy did not take 'is eyes off you ze entire wedding, and ze fact zat I noticed zis at my own reception is proof enough for me," she said righteously. Ginny giggled once, and it was phoenix song to Fleur.

"I do not theenk zat he weel die for his courage, Geeny. I theenk he is meant to come home to you. 'E has not finished 'is days, there is much for him to do," she cautioned wisely. "I know zis war makes it seem crazy, cherie, but 'Arry is strong like you. 'E will come home, and 'e will be wanting you back in 'is life, when it is safe to love you again." Ginny seemed to mull her words over, and Fleur could have cried at the guarded, wishful look on her face. She wanted to believe it so badly, but it was clear the prospect of being wrong would kill her.

"You should get some rest. Tomorrow we weel talk about how to get you back to 'Ogwarts, if you weesh to return. Beel said you might want to keep fighting zere, and now zat ze room iz connected to ze Hog's Head, it should not be tough. If you want to stay 'ere, you are more zan welcome to live with us," she reminded gently, but Ginny looked up and met her eyes. Already they were resolute.

"They'll need me at school. I'm their Harry while he's gone," she admitted, chuckling half-heartedly. Fleur held her shoulder warmly.

"Yes, zey look up to you for courage," she said, and she hugged her sister.

"I weel send Beel in, if it is alright. He iz most worried about you."

"Fleur?"

"Yes?"

"Can you keep Mum out for a bit longer? She's not going to like me going back to Hogwarts, even if I'm staying in the Room."

"I cannot promise to outduel your mozzer, but I can try," she winked. Ginny chuckled.

Fleur turned to leave. When her hand was on the door, Ginny's voice stopped her.

"Fleur?"

"Yes?"

A pause, silent and provoking.

"Did you know I called you Phlegm?"

Fleur looked at her through sky blue eyes.

"Yes, but eet does not matter. You call me Fleur now, and I call you Geeny, and we can both call your bruzzers whatever we like, for zey cannot beat us both," she joked, and Ginny's laughter bubbled out as Bill opened the door.


	30. A Private Affair

Almost half-done! Word count is up to over 110,000, readership has passed 800 visitors! The next chapter as well as it's follower are shorter, more intimate looks at specific characters and relationships I wanted to flesh out a bit . . . literally. And plus, what woman (or gay man) doesn't want to envision a night with one of the Weasley twins? I just thought I'd add a little lovin'. If it bothers you, please avoid this chapter- it doesn't affect the plot to skip it. This is also my little way of making sure Fred really got to experience as much of life as possible before JKR kills him off in the battle- I HATED that moment. I cried.

Well, enough of that- on to a very delicious freckled arse. Ladies- enjoy! Gents- don't worry, I've got a similar treat planned, not that you haven't gotten enough mental eye-candy with Hannah, Ginny, and Lavender.

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31

Angelina

The soft rustling was roaring in her ears. Heat. Slick sweat rolled down between her breasts and his chest, the soft, ginger hairs that curled around his nipples teasing hers. He slipped a sweet finger gently into her folds, tracing over her opening, and his breath was fire against her neck.

"Angie," he whispered, and she moaned, nibbling on his lips, tugging the lower one into her teeth and sucking until he whimpered. Freckles. They were everywhere. His skin shone milky white, dotted with the spots she loved to kiss, melding up against her body in the darkness. There was only faint moonlight, a quarter full this night, to guide their lovemaking, but Fred knew her curves better than she did. Cocoa and Milk. This man needed no sight to smell her arousal, thick in the air. Her peach was dripping like honey from a spoon, and she groaned as he dipped another finger in, sliding along just barely touching her.

"You like that?" he whispered low, wanting her answer, and she obliged with a lick to his ear. This was the one time she could do anything she wanted. Fingers slid down his back, tracing over firm, round buttocks, lightly raking over his taut muscles in his back as he held himself over her, licking her nipples. Angie mewled like a kitten, feeling the sweep in her belly as he sucked one into his mouth, swirling his tongue gently and biting just barely. She gasped, and he breathed in with her, trailing fingers down her torso, tracing her abs, rubbing her hips. Fred's lithe waist was captured between her hips, rubbing against her mound, a slow, torturous pleasure that built as she pulled him closer. Her ankles had long ago hooked together, and her panties, barely anything really, were the only thing that separated her from pure bliss.

Angie relished the feel of his skin gliding on hers, the warm soft ease she felt as he caressed her, his lips never leaving her body. From mouth to chin to cheek to ear, to her eyes, laying soft, fluttery kisses, to her collar bones, making her moan, to the hollow of her throat, drawing deep, guttural sighs of want, to her breasts, slicking her peach with each stroke of his tongue, each draw of his lips, each tender bite.

She ran fingers up his back, over his arms, through his hair, tugging him to her mouth and capturing it with hers. _Godric, this was heaven. They should never leave his bed_.

"I want you to come for me, love," he murmured throatily, and Angie's soft intake of breath was all the permission he needed. A gentle finger rubbed up against her sweet nub, circling distressingly slow, and Angie's eyes closed from their worship of his body, feeling the sensations overpower her. She moaned softly and it edged him on. Fred lowered his head, licking and suckling her nipples, stopping to blow cold air on the tips. He rolled them between his fingers, stroking her nub and the opening of her peach, and her body jolted her, her core throbbing. A second finger slid in her at last, and Angie cried out, her back arching off the bed, as Fred chuckled low.

"I know you love that. I love doing it to you."

She was speechless, unable to reply. A soft moan and a whimper were her only options. The heat pulsed in and out, languidly, teasingly, and she whimpered again and pressed closer, angling to feel more. He withdrew his fingers and she cried, knowing he was being cruel and wanted to hear her beg.

"Please, Fred, make me come- I want you to make me," she panted, and she could see his smile in the dim. A drop fell from his forehead, salty on her lips. She pressed kisses to his throat, his shoulders, bit his lips and sucked them, ran her fingers over his shaft and chuckled low when he gasped and shivered. Her thumb traced around his tip leisurely, and the tables were turned. She smiled into their kiss.

Fred was shaking, panting short breaths as she ran her fist up and down, curling her fingers over his tip and pressing as she slid down. A second hand lovingly trailed down his sack, and his body shuddered over her. He growled; Fred was never good at sharing.

Strong arms forced her back on the bed and before she could protest hot lips suckled and kissed down her belly, lapping at the sweat, and then his tongue was on her, sucking the juice off her peach, and she cried out, trembling from the thrill of it. Insistent fingers ran over her, massaging her thighs even as he pressed kisses to them, and his fingers returned again and again to her nub, laying soft caresses and pressing as she quaked below him. A finger slid into her, making her whimper, and then two, and the friction was ecstasy as he chuckled deep.

"You want me in you, love? Or do you want more of this?" he asked, and his tongue darted out and ran the length of her peach, then entered her swiftly and lapped up her to suckle her nub. Angie screamed, and his fingers rubbed mercilessly.

His hands roughly pulled her up by her hips, turning her on her side, and a smack jolted her senses. Pain and then pleasure coursed through her- _Oh, Godric, yes- he was in that mood again_- and Angie felt the bliss double as he licked and kissed her bum where he'd smacked her before returning to ravenously licking her core. His fingers rubbed more, gently soothing her nipples and trailing down her waist, and his kisses were exquisite on her peach.

Another smack rang out, harder, making her arse jiggle. "You taste so good love. Do you want me to make you come?" he prodded, and she felt his shaft, like steel covered with silk, press against her arse, making her reel.

"Please, just get inside, Fred, I can't stand it anymore baby," she whined, and his smile glinted. His lips worked over her peach, licking her nub and sucking again, and Angie shook and cried out.

"PLEASE! Fred, please, just shag me! Please baby!" she begged as he slowed, licking languorously. Her muscles clenched and unclenched automatically, pleading for release. She felt like a tightly coiled spring, wound to the breaking point.

With a sudden shift he eased up and entered her, filling her inch by inch. Angie curled around him, near-sobbing with relief, and moaned so loud she was sure George could hear all the way at the end of the hall. Pushing all thought aside, she wrapped her legs tighter, listening to Fred groan appreciatively and pull in and out. Three glorious strokes filled her and then the world flipped, and she found herself straddling his hips, looking down as her braids filled her vision. She tossed back her hair and began to rock back and forth, up and down, his hands softly rubbing her hips, fondling her breasts. Fred sighed, and the air was a country wind, whistling through the night. Her breasts bounced as sweat beaded on her back, a tiny rivulet running down, and smacks rang out again in time to her rocking. Heat surrounded, swelling in the air with the scent of his musk.

"So . . . bloody . . . good . . ." he panted. His open palm slapped her arse hard, ringing out in the dark. Angie whimpered as he pulled her down and kissed her sweetly. She rolled her hips and Fred groaned loudly and shifted her even lower over him so her breasts ran over his chest as she stroked him. She was flipped on her back once more, and he was pulling her legs up near his ears, both of them intact, her mind noted randomly, and his eyes were intense holding hers. He drove into her, and her body sang. His belly melted with her thighs and the music grew louder, a symphony as she moaned and writhed, filled with need. A crescendo built, steady, heavy, and Angie shook as Fred picked up his pace even faster, grinding his hips into hers, growling, and she saw him tense the moment she came undone. Angie shrieked as waves rolled her, hugging him to her, trembling, and Fred's belly shook as his breathing slowed. The finale rushed through her mind, a swift, heart-rending duet.

"Love you so much, Angie girl," he whispered, pulling her hair back and kissing her face. She was cocooned in warmth, wet and sticky and wonderfully sated. Her body was tranquil as a lake at sunset and energized as an ocean at storm, and she covered his face in soft, wet kisses. Fred rolled onto his side, spooning her close, and wrapped his arms around her. Her belly trembled in aftershocks.

"Stay with me, always?" she whispered softly, feeling her mind begin to slip into sleep.

"You're my mate, Angie. Always."

She drifted off, safe in cocoa dreams.

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Reviews, please- I've never tried to write anything like this before! I hope those of you who weren't intent on a more sexual chapter were able to either skip it or appreciate it for a sweet moment they got to share before they're separated. They've both more lusty and lively, and less romantic, cuddle-fest people- so I took it light when it came to the tenderness. TO NOTE: I'm using the Sensible Universe. I have Alicia and George together after the war, not Angelina. When JKR admitted that her pairing of George and Angelina was a bit unhealthy, I agreed- not because I think it's sick that George could date and marry his brother's girl. I have no problem with that- my father married his deceased wife's sister, my own mother. They had not known one another really until my aunt's death, and they fit :-) Angelina is too loud for George, who is the more sensitive, introverted twin- she loves Fred for his humor and outgoing, boisterous nature. She matches him. She and George would be a sad, second-hand couple, and they would forever be plagued by the what-ifs and the memory of George's twin. Angie would always question if she were with George just because he looks identical to Fred (aside from the ears- note that reference!) and it would haunt them both, whether we admit it or not. Angie needs someone who's as crazy as she is, and George is the ying to Fred's yang- not an opposite, but a balance. He writes down the invention procedures and keeps up the finances, while Fred runs off into battle without backup and explodes things in their bedroom. They can both be responsible, loving and funny- just in slightly different ways.

Thoughts?

Next chapter is Aberforth, who gets to see Ginny into the Room and shows her a certain shiny object she could see her desire in. And it's not the Mirror of Erised.


	31. Red Sun Rising

Hello all,

This was a bit of a hiatus from the plot, I know- between Alicia's misgivings with the Diggory duo and then Angelina's view of Fred, up-close-and-personal, so to speak, we did manage to take some time away from the main event. Back to business! Special thanks to my reviewers, especially Coquetry, emLILYEVANS, lizziet8, Purple Llama in a Cheese Hat and the faithful Cole the Demon Hunter.

Enjoy,

Jenna

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31

Aberforth

The Weasley boy was going to get him killed. Sitting there, bold as brass, not even a thought to changing those damned red locks to something sensible like brown or black to make him blend in. _He might as well be wearing a target round his neck_, Abe thought sourly. And here he was, expected to serve the man and remind him to get out and come back when he wasn't drawing quite so much attention from the seedier types that were eyeing the boy from their stools. It was not even ten at night, January- a terrible chill- and still, the boy had come without a cloak, and was sitting in the bar to defrost. _If the red hair wasn't a bleedin' call for attention, the suspicious lack of proper attire for a British winter sure as hell was._

He approached the boy calmly, his trademark eyebrow raise ready for action.

"S'cuse me, what'll you be having?" he asked, and the boy shivered and looked around anxiously. Ten pairs of eyes- nearly all in the shop- were watching their interaction.

"Just passing through, thought I might warm up- got any firewhiskey?" he asked naively, and Abe almost snorted. The boy came into a bar and didn't expect him to have Firewhiskey?

"A pint or more?" he asked gruffly, and the boy nodded, looking around, instead of giving an answer. Abe sighed and filled a pint glass with the amber mead, then sent it sloshing down the bar table, where the boy caught it as it went past on the tips of nimble fingers and inclined his head, before slapping down a fat galleon. The gold shown in the light: strike three. Now, the ingrates knew he was in trouble, he was likely a Weasley, and he had gold. Bad decision. Abe watched glumly, as though a hurricane was en route and he'd given up hope of outrunning it. He saw the boy sputter, putting down his glass and inspecting the bit of dust on the side. _What? It was all ambiance. He didn't think nobody would want to sit in a place that looked like it got no action. So what if the glasses weren't pristine?_

Young Weasley ran his sleeve dourly up the side of the glass, smiling weakly when he saw Abe's fixed frown. He took another practiced, dainty sip, and the bartender began his wait.

Two hours had passed and ten customers had come and gone before the old crowd around the bar had thinned enough that he felt confident in acting. Throwing a second drink down the bar, he gave it enough oomph that the boy would never be able to stop it without a great spill. Sure enough, the crash that followed gave him the excuse he was looking for.

"I'll clean it up, here, let me dry you off," he offered, feigning frustration, and with a flick, the mead had vanished, and the boy had stopped his soppy apologies. Abe tucked a note into his shirt pocket while the eyes were all fixed elsewhere and walked back to the bar, flipping glasses out and wiping them with that rag Albus had charmed for him for Christmas five years ago. _Hmm. Maybe the charm had worn off? Who knew how long an everclean was supposed to run? Oh well. It was no reason to think his glasses were anything but quaint- yes, that's the word Albus had used. Quaint._

The Weasley boy had pulled out the note without a second thought and Abe had to control the impulse to throttle him across the bar. Did he think it was a birthday party invitation? _For Godric's sake, someone needed to give this one a good washing behind the ears before another idiot Avada-Kedavra'd his arse!_

The boy was squinting to read it in the low light, and after ten minutes of all-too-obvious glances about the pub, he stretched lazily and sauntered back to the men's loo, then tapped the brick Abe had instructed discreetly and walked through the wall. Abe charmed the sign to read "closed" and walked around, getting last-minute pints and take-home fish and chips orders to clients. He walked back to the kitchen and told Queasy and Quirky to see to the tenants and lock up, and then he ambled back up the stairs, hoping the boy hadn't gotten cold feet and sprung out the window. He didn't much feel like dealing with the pesky snatchers if the Weasley kid set off the caterwauling charm.

He was not to be disappointed. Wringing his hands and now wearing horned glasses, the boy looked paler than when he'd walked in, even after three pints. Abe had been wondering how he was keeping all the alcohol he'd drunk from showing. Raising his hand to indicate the boy should take a seat, Abe lowered himself into his mother's plump pink and green armchair by the fireplace and let his bushy brows slowly rise up to take their normal place of honor.

"D'you want to explain why you were sitting in this pub when half the wizarding world would like nothing better than to take out one of the Weasleys?" Abe glowered.

"Please, I didn't know who else to go to . . . there's a fidelius up, I can't get in . . . and Runcorn told me Ginny was taken- please, do you have any news of my sister? Is my family ok?"

Abe sighed. So it wasn't about joining the Order. He'd wondered.

"Your sister is fine. She escaped after six days' torture, she's healed up nicely, from what Arthur told me. She's at your brother's . . . erm, your oldest brother's place. The one by the ocean. Everyone else is with your mother's aunt- the mad one with no hearing, remember?" Abe stated, and Percy visibly relaxed. "You're sure she's safe? Was she seriously injured?"

"Well, now that you mention it- Arthur did say something about a curse and some werewolf scars, but he hadn't seen them personally. No, Bill- that's his name- he broke the curse 'bout five hours after they got her back, and she's due to show up here soon, if you'd like to see for yourself," he offered. If it were possible, Percy went even paler.

"No, that's alright, I just thought- I mean- you're Dumbledore's brother, I figured- and I didn't want to upset- well, I mean,"

Abe laughed and cut him off. "I know what you said to your Da. He's told me, told Albus last year- though we all thought you might have come around before now. What are your intentions? Do you plan to just up and get rid of your family? Pretend they're not yours?" he growled, and Percy was fumbling madly for footing in the conversation. Thoughts of Albus sitting with that murderer, the boy with the golden hair who'd ripped the last of their family to shreds- sweet Ariana, petting the goats and Albus was inside, ignoring her- ignoring him- swept through his mind.

"It's not right to forget where you come from, what you've done. You have to make it up to them." His hands clenched of their own accord.

Percy hung his head. "That's all fine for you to say, but let's just agree that my family is not like yours. Mine is chaotic at best, and I don't think they'd listen to anything I might have to say."

"Especially with all these chances you're givin' 'em," Abe sniped. Percy looked uneasy and kept glancing at the door.

"You might not like it, but what you done is wrong. You can't act like you're all fine and perfect, you bloody well fucked up- and I'm not one to tell a man how to live, but I know just as well as you do that the one who should be doin' the grovelin' is you, and it's going to be awhile before they listen. I don't blame them neither," Abe confessed, and Percy spluttered before falling silent. The back door charm went off. Dung was here with the girl. He'd apparated onto the back door.

Abe smirked. McGonagall was gonna have a cow when she heard Dungie had managed the landing. He turned to leave and locked the door behind him, leaving Percy to his thoughts. The kitchen was dark when he came down the steps, and Dung's low breathing hit his nose before he heard the man identify himself.

"Show yourself! Who's there?" a girl's voice whispered hoarsely, and Abe was blinded by a brilliant light shooting into his face.

"For Merlin's sake, put that light out! You want the whole neighborhood to see us?" he hollered, and the light dimmed to a fraction. Abe's eyesight faded back in. A redhead chit of a girl he'd seen in here two years before when Potter started his defense group was pointing her wand at him, wary, and Dung was sitting on a stool, helping himself to chips leftover from dinner.

"'Ello, Abe, sorry about this one," came Dung's salutation. The stool squeaked and Abe was tempted to chuckle. "I'm Aberforth Dumbledore, brother to Albus and Ariana, and your father met me here two days ago to make sure I could give you safe transport to the Come-and-Go room, where you lot have been hiding out the last month or so," Abe lowered his palms wide, showing her the wand that lay unused in one. "And you, miss, would be the Weasley girl, Arthur's youngest, Ginevvy, Ginevive, Guenivere- oh whatever"

"It's Ginny," the girl responded, a flick of something darting across her face. Dung shoved a second handful of chips into his mouth and the crunch was epic. Abe saw her lower her wand and hug Dung, something he hadn't been expecting.

"Thanks Dungie. I know Fred was ready to skin you alive if you didn't, but I still appreciate it," she said quietly, and Dung waved away her thanks and jingled his pocket. "Let's keep this here between us, 'k?" he asked, and Abe nodded his head and motioned for the girl to follow.

"You go ahead and leave the money for those chips on the bar, and I'll see you tomorrow, Dung. And I'm changing my back door wards, so you can't come back in once you leave," he informed the sneak thief, who was eyeing his set of silver plates- Mother's best goblin-made company dishes- from his stool.

Dung's eyes popped and he waved them on, but Abe knew he'd never see a whiff of gold near that bar tonight. Might as well let the bastard take them.

The girl was quiet and carried no bags. "You've got your things already there, then?" Abe asked, and Ginny shook her head. "They're on my person," she replied, and Abe cleared his throat. "Shrinking charm?"

"Yes."

"Hmm."

Silence filled the dark staircase as they climbed higher. Abe reset the wards from the window and clutched the door handle.

"I don't want a fight, understand? He's here to make his peace, and you'll be giving him what he deserves," he said, knowing she had no clue what he meant and loving the irony that likely, the Weasley boy would be getting just that- plus maybe an extra bat bogey, from what Arthur had told him of the girl. Ginny looked at him questioningly, but then the door swung open, and Abe watched her jaw drop. She leapt into the room with a yowl, her wand forgotten. Fists flung up, some to cover and some to punch, and he heard the boy's frightened pleas for silly things like mercy and rationality and "seeing reason" before he closed the door and locked it, sealing with an imperturbable. Twenty minutes passed, long enough for all the furniture to be broken from the sound of it, and Abe sat in the hall, listening to the shouts and the cursing, and chuckled at the repeated use of "PRAT!" which seemed to be the girl's favorite. The boy was quieter, most likely protecting himself- and Abe applauded himself that he'd thought to grab her wand when it fell out of her pocket as she rushed in. If she'd had it now, the boy would likely be dead, or perhaps covered in bubotuber puss-like boils. Preferably the boils, since a body would be so difficult to explain away.

After half an hour was done, and the thuds had relinquished to silence, Abe unlocked the door and peeked in. The girl was sitting on the floor across from the boy, who had a black eye, a split lip, and several hex marks- and there was no shield between them. The girl looked completely relaxed, breathing evenly, her eyes closed. Percy looked exhausted.

"So you'll be wanting your wand back, then?"

"Yes. It would have been nice to have it before, but maybe it was better I didn't," she acknowledged, and Abe frowned. "Well, you got a hold of his, he's covered in those red marks from spellwork," he began, but Ginny shook her head. "Wandless magic. I can do some small things without a wand. Been practicing."

Percy shifted and stood up, shaking Abe's hand. "I can apparate outside?"

Ginny got to him first. "There's a caterwauling charm, you've got to apparate off the back stoop so you don't set it off," she informed him, and Abe was pleased to see she was meeting Percy's eyes level. "Thank you," Percy replied formally, and then he eased from one foot to the next, looking intently at his sister.

Ginny crossed her arms across her chest and rolled her eyes. "Oh, for Merlin's sake, Perce, you can hug me- I won't bite your head off." The boy pulled her into his arms with surprising warmth and hugged her tightly. "Please take care of yourself. Send me a patronus if anything serious happens, please. And keep in mind what we talked about. I don't think I could handle doing this seven more times in a row. I'll get Bill next."

"Eight." Ginny corrected, and Percy frowned. "Bill and Fleur got married last summer. You didn't come. We were attacked."

Percy swallowed hard and Abe cut in, hoping to clear the air. "We best get you in the portrait, Missy- don't want you up too late, it's half-past two already- Percy, I'll let your father know you're safe and in contact if you'd like- no? Well, alright."

Percy walked down the stairs, Abe following. "If you need help, you can come here again- just call for Quirky, she can hear you. She'll bring you to my quarters. DON'T come in the front, you can't act worth a hoot- gonna get us all killed," he growled, wanting to impress the seriousness of the situation. Percy nodded and shook his hand again, his palm clammy under Abe's huge sausage-fingers, and Abe reset the wards and watched out the window as Percy disappeared with a twist and a crack.

Upstairs, the girl was sitting in the chair, and the furniture was all mended and settled in it's proper place. Abe snorted. She'd dusted and cleaned the windows, too. Madness.

"Ariana, could you take her up to school? She needs to be getting back," Abe addressed his sister softly, and she smiled and beckoned for Ginny to enter. Stairs appeared behind her, and Ginny stepped in, her red hair trailing down her back. Abe watched the red grow dimmer and dimmer, slipping out of sight like the sun sinking below the horizon. He shook his head. The girl was walking back into her own deathtrap. Arthur was a fool to let her return. She should be safe at home, with her family.

Ariana returned from her journey and smiled at him. Abe sighed. Sometimes family wasn't all that safe.

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Please review!!! Next up: an update from Seamus, who's been using his Christmas Hols for lots of interesting activities, and news of Luna and Theo.


	32. Holidays with Hags?

Yo-

So that's the beginning of something that will help Ginny greatly during this year, though she doesn't know it yet. Also an interesting subtlety- you noticed Abe can have visitors during the night because the caterwauling charm doesn't hit his back door steps. Keep that in mind; it's a big help to the DA in the future! Abe is a rather resourceful person, and having friends like Dung who've got connections doesn't help. I'm sure it's on purpose that his back door is left a little leeway. As for Ginny and the rest of the DA leadership, we're about to see how Holidays went for the various members- for some, a nice rest from the tension of constant danger. For others, a reminder of what they miss most. Happy reading!

-Jenna

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32

Seamus

"I need to find a place where I can shag this pretty girl in peace!" he hollered, not caring if he woke up half the damn staff. It was two in the morning, he'd fought off twenty (ok, ok, five) Snatchers just this afternoon, and Lavender was giving him that doe-eyed look that made him want to bend her over a desk. For Seamus, now was not a time to be discreet.

"Shh, you'll wake up the ghosts," Lav giggled beside him, and he could see the firewhiskey they'd just shared heating up her cheeks. She was pretty and pink, and her hair was curling around her breasts and down her back. Seamus chuckled and repeated his litany twice more, holding Lav up against him, and she continued to giggle and snog his neck. He could get used to her version of healing him up after a fight.

Her tongue swirled in his ear, hot and sloppy from the alcohol, and Seamus could have cried with relief when a red door emerged where the Room usually was. No one else was back at school yet- Hogwarts had never been so quiet. The two of them had come in via McGonagall's floo after sending her a patronus and Lav had dragged him to Madam Pomfrey. To hell with going all the way to Gryffindor tower; he wanted her now.

He pulled her inside brusquely and turned her about, slanting his lips over hers, and she sighed and looped her arms around his neck, playing with his hair. His hands had missed her; they ran over her curves, cupping her breasts and making her squirm. Godric, he loved this witch. She moaned into his mouth and he started cursing, undoing the long row of buttons that were trailing down her dress shirt. It was a pale lavender color, her favorite, and she watched his distress with amusement.

"They're all the rage right now in Paris, I'm told- double rows of military-style buttons," and Seamus pulled out his knife. He'd cut the damned thing off her. Lav fixed him with a no-nonsense look that spoke volumes of his future lack of shagging should he destroy her new shirt, and Seamus could have whimpered when she chuckled low, making his legs want to fall out under him. He eased the shirt over her head, trying not to rip it in his desperation (though it might be nice to get rid of the blasted thing forever, so long as it looked like an accident) and curled her to his chest, making quick work of his trouser buttons. She slid a hand down him, giggling again into their kiss, and he felt warmth overpower his senses when she kissed his throat, biting the spot where his neck met his shoulders.

A loud knocking startled them, and Lav clung close as they looked around. "GUYS! I CAN SEE YOU! CUT IT OUT AND LET ME IN!" came Ginny's muffled yell. Lav immediately jumped into throwing on her shirt, turning in circles, trying to decide which way she'd show the least skin as she worked. Seamus did up his trousers and imagined a door for Ginny, and a swath of deep cherry wood appeared as Lav stuffed her bra into her back pocket.

"Have a nice Holiday?" Ginny said cheekily as he opened the door.

"GINNY! Are you alright? What did they do to you?" Lavender cried. Seamus pressed her into a chair that had materialized.

Ginny frowned. "I didn't think anybody knew," she said, and Seamus shook his head.

"Neville sent word via coin that you'd been taken, and then he let us know you'd escaped. He said your dad sent your Gran and him patronuses about the situation. Y'ok? D'you need the hospital?"

Ginny chuckled. "I couldn't go there if I wanted to. I can't leave the Room anymore- by the way, what's this place supposed to be for?"

Seamus looked around and blushed. He hadn't thought it possible, but looking at the swing, the huge bed, and the various desks and chairs that the room had clearly conjured just for his shagging, he could see why his Mum always harped that he had an overactive imagination. "Erm, well, we wanted someplace to relax and talk, and this was closer," but Ginny snorted and Lav giggled, sharing a look.

"I can see you're very relaxed," Ginny noted with a smirk, and his blush went deeper as he followed her gaze. Bloody witches. Lav wasn't helping at all, sitting there with no bra under that pretty shirt. Her nipples were plain as day, just sitting there, and he couldn't do anything but squirm a bit and cross his leg.

"D'you think we could all take us back to the Room? Only I want to put my stuff away, like I said, I'm staying in here for good," Ginny asked, and the Room morphed around them, turning into the comforting home they'd all grown to love. Four colored tapestries hung over the wall below the balcony to the dorms, shining softly in the dim light from the evening candles.

The sofas they were seated on became leather and slid to take their spots by then fireplace. "So you're alright, Ginny? They didn't hurt you?" Lav asked, and Ginny shrugged. "They did, but I'm fine now, mostly, just tired. My family took care of me, and Bill and Fleur found a way to get me back in school so I can help. Mum wasn't too pleased," she ended, nearly a whisper. Lavender nodded sympathetically and rubbed her back. "If I leave the Room the Carrows or Snape can catch me, and they'll send me to Frumpy Tits again. He wanted to use me as bait," Ginny ground out, and Seamus stiffened. "Bait for what?"

"Not what, it's who, silly," Lavender said softly, and she hugged Ginny across the couch, then pulled her up to "talk girl talk" upstairs in the dorm. Ginny pulled a package out of her pocket and tapped it with her wand. The trinket ballooned out and her trunk was suddenly standing next to them, and Ginny flicked her wand again to levitate it up the steps.

"BAIT FOR WHO?" Seamus hollered after them, but Lav turned on the steps with a lethal look on her face that shut him up good. Just as they'd disappeared, with Lavender asking if Ginny would like her hair curled tomorrow, the second knock of the night sounded behind him, and Seamus jumped, looking back at the front door. Someone else was coming in?

The back portrait of the girl opened, and Aberforth stumbled out, holding a bloody Neville in his arms. "Boy apparated in, Splinched himself- I can't heal worth a shite- where's that girl?" he said wildly, and Seamus ran up the stairs, calling for Ginny. "GET DOWN HERE! NEVILLE'S BACK AND IT'S BAD!"

Feet pummeled the steps and down to the common area, where Abe was setting Neville down on a long couch and pulling off a crimson-soaked shirt. Seamus felt his brain split, and while one side was terrified, looking down at the gash of scooped-out skin where Neville's ribs showed clean through, the other half wanted to joke that they'd never be able to tell what color his jumper had been. Nausea overwhelmed him and he vomited spectacularly over the other side of the couch. Lav vanished it with a flick and conjured a cold, wet cloth for him to clean up. Ginny was already swirling her wand in complicated arches over Neville, and the wound was slowly closing up, filling with flesh in tiny layers that looked red, then pink, then vaguely yellow. Skin melted over his belly, floating on the muscle as his body replaced what was missing bit by bit, and Ginny sat back, exhausted, and siphoned off the blood, vanishing it too. "I can't fix it perfect, but he's got it all back from wherever he left from," she said, and Abe was running his hands lightly over Neville's belly, checking for bumps.

"This is good work, Missy," he muttered, and his wand conjured a plain brown jumper which he stuffed Neville's arms into. Ginny leaned forward, easing Neville's head through the jumper. "He's lost a lot of blood- Lav, can you get one of the healer kits from the" but Lav had already taken off, and she raced back in a moment with three vials in her hands. "The purple first, we need to make sure he's not in any pain when he wakes up, and it can lessen in power if taken after a blood replenisher," she offered, and Ginny looked up appraisingly. "Sorry, I was studying over Hols," Lav explained. Ginny nodded and turned back to Neville, who was still deathly white. Abe fidgeted from side to side, and Ginny looked up from coaxing the second vial down Neville's throat.

"S'right, Abe, you can head out if you want. I promise he'll be fine," and Abe nodded gruffly and walked to the portrait in the back. Seamus watched him go, listening to the curious sounds of phoenix song, which seemed to play in the Room whenever they were particularly stressed. Ginny levitated Neville off the couch and Seamus shook himself into action. He swept his wand, conjuring sheets and a blanket under Neville, and then focused. A fluffy pillow complete with dragon print appeared, and Lav stifled a giggle.

"What? It was me favorite, I'll have you know," he defended, and Ginny muttered something about being six years old. He shot her a mock look of distress and patted his heart. "Wounded me, I tell you- here I am giving my favorite pillow- ok, a copy of my favorite pillow- to one of me best mates, and instead of finding it all mushy and cute like other birds will, you accuse me of immaturity. Real nice of you, Ginger," he drawled, and Ginny let out a huff and lowered Neville down.

"So what were your Hols like?" she asked, and Lav gave him a significant look and stole the stage with a half-hour long account of shopping in Paris with her mother and going to see Padma and Parvati for New Years Eve. Seamus was silent, hoping Ginny would be thoroughly diverted; he didn't want to talk about his own Hols. He'd spent all two and a half weeks travelling between his home and various possible locales where Dean might be staying, trying to locate his friend and bring him back to the Room, where there were already six formally permanent occupants. Jeremiah and Sylia, the resident first-years, who had become the spoiled little siblings of every member, Quentin, who'd been targeted when his father was sent to Azkaban for defending Quentin's older brother from Death Eaters, Russ, who had decided not to rejoin his classmates after his brush with death, opting instead to become one of their physical trainees while he regained his health, a third year girl whose name Seamus couldn't remember, who'd lost her mother two weeks after Halloween, and now Ginny. The others had all been smuggled out of Hogwarts for the Holidays through Abe's pub, though getting them back in would be a bit of a chore. Dean would have loved it here, Seamus thought, and his eyes stung. Ginny and Lav were chattering back and forth, thankfully absorbed by the pull of Parisienne fashion and those blasted rows of buttons, and Seamus wiped his eyes quietly, trying not to think of the hours and days he'd spent trudging through snow, going door to door along pubs and Muggle shops to see if anyone had seen Dean. He had lots of pictures of them laughing, but only one of Dean just by himself to show- and he couldn't show a wizarding photo to a Muggle. Colin had taken it while Dean was dating Ginny, and Dean had been concentrating hard, drawing Ginny as she cast her horse patronus as an Anniversary gift. His friend looked relaxed in the photo, something Seamus dearly hoped was still the case, though he knew that hiding took it's toll on anyone. Dean was safe, for all he knew, and alive, but that didn't guarantee happiness. Lav went into the kitchen to make them tea; it had been decided that they should all sleep here tonight in case Neville woke up. Seamus conjured blankets and a second pillow for himself, and then a set of bedding for Lav on the couch next to his.

"You alright, Irish?"

Seamus paused, looking up at Ginny, who was watching him from her own bed beside Neville.

"You can tell me, y'know. I won't think any less of you."

Her eyes spoke of truth and affection, and Seamus heard his own mouth talking without taking in that he was really telling her. Out spilled the frustration and the long, cold nights of the past fortnight, his search that had sent him into Snatchers time after time, and the false lead that had made him want to kill something when it panned out to be another young wizard, a pureblood, who'd just graduated school from Beauxbatons and had an uncanny resemblance to his friend. Wherever he was, Dean was well-hidden. Ginny listened with grace, never interrupting like Lav would do occasionally, and Seamus felt relieved to get it all out of his mind. He'd been tormented by the thought of his best friend freezing outside, knee-deep in snow, on Christmas.

"Dean was always good at charming people, and transfiguration was his best subject. He knows how to disguise himself. I wouldn't be surprised if he's got a good place to stay until all this is over. You tried to find him, and you couldn't- who's to say the Snatchers can? You're his best friend, Seamus, you know him better than anyone. I wouldn't let yourself go crazy over it; I love Dean too, and I miss him and worry about him, but if you're thinking about it all the time while you're here, you won't be able to fight. You'll get hurt. You've got to let it go until you can actually do something about it, and you certainly can't while you're here," she said softly, insistence covered by gentle admonishment.

"Guess you're right," he replied quietly, smiling as Lav came back downstairs in her new cozy nightdress. It was a periwinkle blue that set off her eyes. "Tea should be ready," she offered, and Ginny got up to fetch it, then sat back down suddenly. "I don't think I should move for a bit, sorry," she said, her skin pale, and Lav felt her forehead.

"No fever. Is it just that you're tired?" she asked.

"I'm a bit . . . weak. I hate it, but I am. I just need some time to rest before school starts up on Monday," she said, and Lav nodded and paced to the kitchen. Three cups of tea steamed before them, and Neville stirred from his spot on the bed. "I think we'll need a fourth," Ginny said quietly, watching him open his eyes blearily and groan. "Glad to see you too, Gin," Neville replied meekly, but he looked so weak, like Ginny, who was stark white, that the situation was anything but humorous. Their leaders were getting picked off one by one, whether intentional or not. Seamus looked outside the window to the snow falling on the grounds. They had a long, cold way to go.


	33. Shite Happens

Hello!!!

Thanks so much for the faithful reviews!!! I definitely take your input into consideration. I've had a request for a Dean chapter, which I'm working on adding- might be a bit fluffy, a last look at how Ted Tonks lived while on the run, or maybe just some "damn, I wanna be back at school" blues- any suggestions? Are there any other characters you'd like to see me explore? I have a general outline of the chapters, but I can always try to fit something else in!

I'm starting to think of my new novel after this one is done since I'm at the half-way point in writing . . . let me know if you think the multiple-viewpoint writing style is a detraction or a benefit for readers. Personally, it's just my way of dealing with the fact that I can't write a whole story from each character's perspective! (sniffle )

This is from Luna, who I'm sure you've all been worried about . . . and after this, we've got Colin Creevy and the Muggleborns making a special appearance!!!

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33

Luna

She'd never fancied counting ceiling tiles or stones when bored, so it was quite pleasant that this cellar had no ceiling tiles to occupy her time. Mother had always agreed that kind of activity didn't really keep the mind busy, it just gave the semblance of organizing. To those who were incredibly bored, counting bricks in a wall or the number of spiders might seem like an agreeable pastime, and there were times when Luna wished she were dull enough to be satisfied with just this sort of lazy, pointless pursuit. Somehow, her mind had never let her wander far from . . . well . . . wandering.

Her newest task involved slowly stitching a second friendship bracelet for Draco out of the twine around her arms that he'd loosened for her. Draco seemed stuck between being ignorant of her and apologetic, depending on whether or not he appeared in the cellar alone. If his father or the Bellatrix woman were with him, he receded back into his usual manner, holding himself aloof and Luna knew he wouldn't look at her. If he were with Pettigrew, he was cocky and arrogant, and reminded Luna strongly of her favorite Kneazle, who liked to preen whenever Father attached bows to his tail to ward off fleetle infestations. But when Draco came downstairs alone to bring their meals, he would untie her hands, scourgify the room for her, and occasionally answer her questions. Sometimes, he wasn't all that bad.

Not that she couldn't scourgify the room herself. For being a wandmaker more than sixty years, Mr. Ollivander knew an awful lot about wandless magic, even if he felt he didn't have the concentration or finesse to master most simple wandless skills. Luna had proven an apt pupil, having already spent years honing her perceptions of magic and the way it flowed through her body when she cast spells. She'd been most pleased to realize that even if she were unable to take regular baths, she could focus her magic on staying clean and her body recharged her skin fresh each day, as though the energy inside her could cast its own self-scourgify. The dirt under her nails from digging out the rusty nail they now used to break or cut things was the first thing to go- it hadn't been nice to eat without washing her hands first. The only sadness remaining was the lack of bubbles.

Apart from keeping herself and Mr. Ollivander smelling like they'd just walked out of a beauty salon (though Mr. Ollivander seemed uncomfortable at first about embracing the passion fruit scent her magic had fashioned for them) Luna had learned to levitate small stones and bring them across the room, to turn on the light and then make it flicker, which usually made someone come downstairs top check they were there, and to cushion the ground under them. One time she'd tried to open the window that showed the grounds outside above them, to let in fresh air after Mr. Ollivander had been sick. She's somehow managed to summon one of the peacocks that were kept in a barn outside during the winter instead, and though it had been magnificent company for several hours until Pettigrew had come down with their dinner, it had been most difficult to explain away, even though the man was not very bright. Luna still had marks from his silver hand, which had twisted her arm behind her back when she told him the peacock had come to visit them.

Her attempts at wandless healing had been less successful- she'd experienced some numbness one time, and a wave of cool air at another time, but never true pain relief. Mr. Ollivander was already heavily beaten when she'd come to the cellar for the first time, and Luna hadn't been able to do anything but clean his wounds a bit with some water Draco brought down for their dinner that night. Her next project: transfiguring food. Luna had never gone so long without pickles, and it was starting to get to her. Draco had admitted it might look odd if he asked for some, as he hated them. Luna had settled for asking for cucumber if he could manage it. She'd make that vegetable into a nice, juicy pickle if it was the last thing she did.

"Mr. Ollivander, are you awake?"

"Yes, dear. I've been up for some time now. Can't sleep, it gets too cold down here. Would you mind terribly casting a warming spell?"

"Not at all. I think it's rather nice to be able to see our breath in the air; it makes me think of being outside, don't you agree?"

The room began to warm, and Luna squinted, watching the dim light grow brighter to cast a low glow over the dull, drafty room. "I don't particularly like the cold, but I enjoy watching you blow fog rings when the air is right," he replied, smiling benignly, and Luna beamed. "I do so like those- it's almost like having Christmas, or going sledding; Daddy always makes them into animals when we're outside. His are usually the Dodo bird. He likes to make them fly, but I always tell him that he's getting them confused with the Drado. I don't think Dodo birds can fly," Luna mused.

"No, the Dodo couldn't fly, and I believe it's extinct now, my dear," he said as they both sat up. Luna refreshed her scourgify charm on them each and sighed as her feet tingled. Somehow it was nice to know her toes didn't smell badly any more, even if it was too cold to smell anything.

"Oh, I don't think they can be- Father found feathers last time we were on Holiday. He added them to his new work. He's recreating the lost diadem of Ravenclaw. Father says the Dodo bird is exceptionally bright, just very misunderstood. They have a complex language and can apparate just like us. They play hide-and seek for years with one another without being seen by wizards or Muggles. The feathers are very powerful."

Mr. Ollivander smiled and they each began the painful process of stretching while roped to one of the support beams. Luna began by flexing her toes back and forth, following up her calves and feet, and ending over an hour later with wiggling her nose and ears. Mr. Ollivander couldn't wiggle either, but he liked to watch her teach him.

"I believe Draco will be down soon with breakfast. Didn't he say that today would be his last day home?"

"Yes, I recall he did. I hope he was able to get a new coin for me, I really would like to let Neville and Ginny know I'm safe. If we do get a coin, do you think you'd like to send a message to them?"

"What would I tell them, Luna?"

"Whatever you wanted, Mr. Ollivander. Ginny and Neville aren't picky."

"No, no, my dear, I mean, why would I need to speak with them?"

"Oh, I don't know. I guess it's more that you might want to speak to them, rather than that you'd need to. I always like talking to people. It's nicer than being lonely."

"I appreciate it my dear girl. You may tell them I say hello, and rest assured, I am not lonely while you are here to speak with."

"That's a very nice thing to say," Luna grinned. Footsteps echoed down the stairway, and Draco's dark trousers appeared, followed by pale hands, a thin torso, and wide shoulders. His pointed nose and fair hair were a welcome sight, something Luna found herself less surprised by than she'd thought she would be.

"Did you sleep well Draco?"

Malfoy looked uncomfortable for a moment, but he cleared his throat and set down two breakfast trays, then began vanishing the contents of the pots that Luna and Mr. Ollivander used as restrooms. The first thing Draco had obtained for them was toilet tissue, something Luna had asked Bellatrix for on her first night. Bella had laughed for a full ten minutes and gone upstairs, though Luna was convinced that she had forgotten to get her toilet tissue on purpose. The nerve!

Draco had blushed an impressive Weasley red when Luna explained what had happened. He'd argued against bringing any down, stating that if it were discovered then he'd be the first suspect, but Luna had pleaded and bothered him for days and he'd finally brought down a roll of tissue that had been hidden carefully, transfigured to look like a stone until touched. Luna looked down at the naked, cold toast on the plate and sighed.

"Thank you for breakfast, Draco. Did you get a coin for me?"

"Erm, yes- here, let me get your ropes, Mr. Ollivander- we don't have long, Father wants to see me off to the train. I think he just wants to get out of the house," Draco grumbled, and he produced from his pocket a package of steaming scrambled eggs, which Luna dutifully divided between her own tray and Mr. Ollivander's.

"I don't understand why they wouldn't want us to try their scones. I always like to share my cooking," Luna mused, and Draco almost chuckled. "I think the recipe is four hundred years old. Mother said it's been in her family for centuries, all the house-elves make her raspberry scones the way the Blacks made them," he said, pulling one from the sack he'd brought and breaking off a crumbly tip.

"Make sure there aren't any crumbles to see," he reminded, vanishing the bit on the floor lazily. The two prisoners stretched and walked while Draco munched, and Luna examined her new coin. It was a Hermione original, she could tell- the spellwork felt older, less practiced- and there had clearly been additions made to it in the last week to bring it up to speed on their new double-sided version. Luna grasped the coin tightly and thought hard about Neville and sending her friend a "Luna says Hello" message. Five minutes passed, and the scones were cold. She ate her eggs in silence, contemplating her method. Perhaps a tighter grip, or a hand motion? Should she relax while trying to send the magic out? Should she focus on the person more, or the message? Draco left with the friendship bracelet wrapped around his ankle where Luna had tied it, looking more awkward than she'd even seen him. He'd flinched when she'd reached for his hand to tie it on, though why he would want a friendship anklet over a friendship bracelet, she didn't know why. Mr. Ollivander was humming classical music to himself as he did on Mondays- Tuesdays were blues, Wednesdays were wizarding hits of the 1940s and 1950s, and Thursdays were Italian operettas, in honor of his mother's heritage. Fridays Luna made up songs for dancing to, since she missed being able to dance when she felt like it. Saturdays they were quiet, listening to the water trickle down the wall and the footsteps above them. And Sundays Luna would use the nail and the pots to drum and clink, which usually made Bella come down and yell at her. One time she'd upended the pot on Luna's feet. That had taken an awful lot of self-scourigying.

Maybe she could just do the message in two parts. First she'd think about communicating with Neville, and then she'd think about the message itself, each word lining up like ants moving a leaf, bit by bit. The coin lay cold and unyielding in her palm. She tried whispering the words, singing them, tapping her feet and then screaming them in her head, but the coin would not budge.

Mr. Ollivander began directing her, telling her to relax her muscles and let the magic flow.

"Try massaging your temples, dear. Most magic works best when you can release all your negativity. You need to feel it in your body,"

"I can feel it, but it won't listen to me. Maybe it's taking a nap, it is early afternoon,"

"I think your magic is just nervous. It's something new. You need to work up to this skill with baby steps. Have you tried getting your coin to warm up?"

Luna closed her eyes, and the coin grew hot.

"Why don't you change the shape a bit? Give it a Harry Potter head instead of that Goblin?"

Luna grinned, palming the coin, and when she opened her eyes, Harry's laughing face looked at her from one side, and Ginny stepped into the coin and gave him a kiss. She turned the coin over. Hannah and Neville were holding hands on the back, waving to her. The coin-Neville tripped over the edge of the golden rim and coin-Hannah pulled him up with a teasing, exasperated look.

"Good. Now try adding words to the coin. Don't think about sending them anywhere, just picture them on the coin."

Luna sat quietly for a long time. The drips from the ceiling faded in the background to nothingness, and the cold grew less so, even without a warming charm, and she thought of what she wanted to say.

"Luna says hi. I'm at Malfoy Manor. I'm safe and Draco has a package for you." She whispered, and the words ran together, ribbon running back and forth, stretched like red cord around a present at Christmas. She pictured the surface of the coin, a liquid golden lake, shining in the dim light. The words appeared on the coin in her mind, raised slightly above the surface of the lake, and glinting at the curve of the L on her name, which looped just like her handwriting. The M's were scrawled wide and squat, and the 'p' on package had a long tail, like it was trying to curve off the coin. A tugging sensation swelled through her belly, like waves rippling on the lake, and the wind in her mind whispered again.

The coin grew hot, and she yelped, startled out of her reverie. Mr. Ollivander was speaking to her but she was too focused on looking at her coin to take in what his voice was saying.

It had worked. The coin was gleaming, fat and gold, and her handwriting was on it, though it seemed her mind had filled in a few blanks without really trying. "Luna says hello and wishes you all a Merry Christmas! I'm at Malfoy Manor with Mr. Ollivander and we're safe, though a bit chilly. Draco has something for Neville from me and I miss you all, and especially pickles!"

She barely had time to register that she'd written a full paragraph with wandless magic- and that clearly, she was more lonely than she'd thought- before she had to shove the coin in her shirt and dim the lights quickly, because angry feet were coming down the stairs.

"What're you yellin' about down here, bitch? Shut yet mouth!" Alecto screeched, and Luna wished for soap and water to give her a good tongue-cleaning.

"Well? What were yeh carryin' on for?" she screamed, and Luna winched as Alecto kicked her legs. She folded over- a big mistake, as her side was now exposed to the kicks- and Alecto's boots were thick and tough. Three more kicks bruised her ribs until she finally coughed twice and Alecto stopped to catch her breath. Luna was reminded of how it felt to be as slow and squat as Alecto from polyjuice, and she was glad, even as her ribs ached, that she was in her own body, and not wheezing from a few steps down the stairs.

"I was entertaining Mr. Ollivander. We don't have much down here and we were getting hungry, since we never had dinner."

Alecto kicked her again, and then Luna felt pain overflow through her as Alecto aimed her wand down at her. Luna stifled a yelp and looked up when the spell passed, trying to decide which she missed more: her wand, to jinx this idiot with, or her friends, who would attack Alecto before she could raise her wand. Remembering Ginny's reducto that had taken out an entire table in fourth year, she decided she'd much rather have an enraged, pissed Ginny over her own trusty wand, as wonderful as it was. Alecto began tormenting Mr. Ollivander, and Luna was struck with an idea. If she didn't need her wand to send messages on a coin, couldn't she send Alecto a message too?

Luna closed her eyes and tried to shut out Mr. Ollivander's screams. She grinned when Alecto shrieked and fell over, backing up frantically from her prey. Long, looped script was painting itself on the wall, the ink suspiciously smelly. Luna knew it would take a lot of scourgifies to get it off, but it was the only paint she had.

"IF YOU TOUCH THEM AGAIN, I WILL HUNT YOU. I AM WATCHING. HP."

Alecto stared up, her ugly face stricken with fear. Luna, meanwhile, was trying not to giggle at the thought of what Ginny would say when she found out her boyfriend was not only an action figure, but now a metaphysical cellar-traveler and bodyguard as well. Luna pulled her sleeve over her nose and watched Alecto flee with satisfaction. It was like Daddy said- _everything_ had lots of uses. Even shite.


	34. Like A Red Rubber Ball

Thanks for the ideas and reviews folks! I really appreciate the feedback. I'm working to catch up on editing a bunch of chapters I've written so the next week might feel like you're all being barraged by tons of my new chapters. I've got Dean up-and-coming, perhaps Percy (if you're REAL good, lol) and also a Dobby chapter, after much deliberation. And now, onto the biggest surprise of the Holidays!

Hugs,

Jenna

34

Colin

It was a risky undertaking, that much was certain. Sometimes he wished Dennis weren't so ridiculously idealistic- and for Colin Creevey, that was saying something. It was as if his little brother thought that once they reached Hogwarts, magic would save them, and they'd never have anything to fear. The real world couldn't be further from the truth.

Between Justin, the Creeveys, and Ingrid, they'd formed a haphazard family that was slowly being chipped away. Dean had split when Ingrid joined, stating that their group was too large and they'd attract attention for sure, being school-age. Melissa had done the same, shortly after Dean, though at least she had a plan for getting to her relatives in Hungary, where the Death Eaters had less control (for now, Colin reminded himself bitterly). Between the four they'd watched out for snatchers and stayed out of the war, avoiding using magic at all costs, and then only Justin or Dean could do so, since they others still carried the Trace. With Dean gone, the voice of reason had left. Instead of existing on the edge of the magical world listening for news that Harry was out in the open and they were needed, the crew plunged further into the Muggle world under Justin's tutelage.

It's not like they weren't capable of pulling off a dependable Muggle guise. Justin had purchased a flat using his older brother's name and the "crew", as they'd come to term themselves, worked various jobs that they could find, always coming home to the privacy of their new family. Justin worked as a bus driver, while the Creeveys were bagging boys at the local grocer and Ingrid did nails in the corner boutique. They'd picked a small town outside Canterbury quite strategically: close to Muggle London, but not close enough to be hit by the "natural disasters" that had nothing natural about them. They were within Apparating distance of France, something Justin had brought up time and again, though none of the others could Apparate. They were also, unfortunately, far from Hogwarts- and while Colin knew his magical family wasn't safe right now, he still missed Luna and Ginny with an ache that was worse than hunger.

It was dangerous to spend time with their true blood- the Creevey boys had run instead of putting their mother and father at danger, and Melissa had been criticized greatly for her decision to leave their stronghold and ask her Muggle parents for a Visa and travel money. Colin shook his head. He might not be happy without his wand every day, but it beat being killed by Death Eaters. They'd already had three narrow escapes in one year, and Ingrid had been captured for thirteen days. She'd escaped with a "borrowed" wand, as she told them- Colin still felt uneasy about the whole deal. What if she wasn't really Ingrid anymore? They had no Veritaserum to prove she wasn't a polyjuiced outsider, and no spell-books to look up disguise-revealing spells. For now, all he could do was wait.

It was when Justin insisted they move a third time in the same month and stop listening to Potterwatch that Dennis had finally "blown his top," so to speak. Isolation had been hard on his little brother, the "social butterfly" of his grade (though Colin had always thought that he was a bit more fluttery, as Ginny had loved to point out when he curled her hair. Honestly, what did it matter if his brother liked Harry, but didn't _like_ him the way Colin and Ginny did?)

And that was why at nine at night, after getting Justin rip-roaring drunk and travelling in-cognito on three separate trains for the span of fifteen hours, Colin was about to break into the Hogwarts grounds.

They'd begun late the night before, slipping drugs procured from a friendly coworker who bagged groceries- as well as weed, in his spare time- who was all too grateful when Colin offered to take his second shift. The boys had baked a cake to celebrate Justin's eighteenth birthday- something Justin seemed to be enjoying even now, since they'd spiked the punch and cake a bit too much, and he was still slap-happy and giggly. Between Colin, Dennis, and Ingrid, they'd packed up bags for themselves as well as a ridiculous Justin, who had tried to ruin their cover by wearing his wizard's hat._ Honestly, it looked nothing like a cowboy hat, don't know what the bugger was thinking,_ Colin admitted, eying his still-loopy friend with ill-hidden amusement. None of them had ever seen Justin act so forward; he'd asked out no less than three birds on the first train from Canterbury to Liverpool- bleary eyed, third-shift women in dark colors with annoyed, tired faces, who looked like they wanted to shoot him for being so cheerful at six in the morning. From Liverpool the teens had made it to Bath, hoping to throw off the scent of anyone tracking them as Wizards. It had seemed a wise decision to backtrack after their first train, since they had to let Justin buy their tickets and they were drawing a lot of attention since they were school-age and travelling without adults. This was an unforeseen problem which Colin had agreed would be handled only by making it look like they were tourists; Ingrid had donned a "Changing of the Guards" t-shirt and Colin carried his camera, and Dennis was passing Justin off as his drunk American cousin, which passersby seemed to accept all-too-readily. If any Dark Wizard were following them by now, they were bored and sick of sitting on subways and trains, and likely they would sooner off themselves than attack the three MuggleBorns who were continually keeping Justin held back by a thin rein. He'd insulted a huge, threatening man in a bowler at the last station on their way to Carlisle, and the other three had paid off the gent with Muggle money before he'd left them alone. At the Scottish border Justin had glimpsed the train tracks going off into the distance and he'd cried out that they were going to fly home, and began asking loudly if they had brooms. The Creeveys had been forced to feign he was mentally challenged to their cabby, who had been exceptionally suspicious of them afterwards.

They had reached the outskirts of Hogsmeade by walking from the neighboring Muggle town, some three miles north. They didn't know yet what security might be in place, but Colin knew from a letter late fall from Ginny that Snape was in control on Hogwarts, and that spoke volumes to him about what they might encounter. After months of hiding and dreading what might be going on in their absence, they were about to dive headfirst into rejoining their friends- whatever the consequences may be. Colin just hoped they didn't include death or loss of limb- or a special kiss from the dementors that were swarming everywhere now in Muggle towns, invisible to the majority of their prey. The upshot of it all was that they had no plan; all the crew had left was a deep determination to find someway, somehow, to return and make their entrance one that would be remembered by students forever. It was going to be a Ron-and-Harry-crashed-a-car-into-the-Whomping-WILLOW! Kind of night.

The four stole into the edge of town, noting the dead, closed up shops, and just as they passed the pub, a keening scream went up.

"BRILLIANT PLAN, COLIN, REALLY! NOW THEY KNOW EXACTLY WHERE WE ARE!" Ingrid shouted, pulling the boys into an alley. "Gee, let's just walk up and ask Snape if we can come back- what did I tell you!? And this one," she motioned angrily, shoving away Justin's hand as he'd been about to pull on her nose for the fiftieth time that night, "I've had it UP TO HERE with cleaning up his drool! ENOUGH!"

"Ingrid, shove it, we need to figure out a plan!" Colin hissed, trying to ignore the fact that he'd gone into this thing with no plan in the first place. Somehow, asking Filch at wandpoint to let them pass had sounded much better on the first train. Or maybe on the subway. Or perchance in the cab . . .

"Colin, what do we do?" came Dennis' frightened voice, punctuated by a giggle from Justin. Voices yelled below them, and men in black robes ran past the alley, searching for the intruders who'd set off the charm. A gruff voice called out for them to give themselves up, and Colin backed away, pulling the others towards the open end of the alley.

"First, we need to get away from those guys," he said sharply, and Ingrid and Dennis pulled Justin behind an abandoned Zonkos. "Do you have your coin, Colin? We could try contacting them again, it worked that one time," Ingrid whispered. The voices were getting closer. Wandlight fell on them and they jumped around as one to face a sinister sneer.

"Well, whot we got here? Couple a school-kids back early, eh?"

A single Snatcher stood before them, clear in his intent. This was the same man they'd faced three months before when Ingrid had been captured, and as Colin swallowed hard, he knew they had only a matter of seconds before the man recognized his previous capture and they were goners. No lies could squeeze them out of this mess.

"STUPEFY!" he cried, and the others followed his lead. The man was lifted with a scream off his feet and flung against the fence, where he crumpled and lay at their feet, unconscious.

"C'mon, they others will have heard that," Colin said, tugging at Dennis' arm, who was standing stock-still, staring at the man he'd stunned.

"COME ON!" he repeated when none of them moved. Ingrid grabbed Dennis' other hand and shifted him violently as shouts drew near.

"Where next?" she panted as they ran. Justin's drugs seemed to be fading, thankfully, and he was running unaided, though decidedly clumsily.

"I have no clue," Colin admitted worriedly. He pulled off a screen from a window on Zonkos and hefted Dennis up, who climbed in and opened the door. The others entered, following Colin to the attic.

"We don't want to get boxed in downstairs; we can get out the windows if we need to from up here," he said, and Dennis nodded. Shouts passed by below them, and the crew realized as one that with winter still on, they wouldn't be able to tell if there were just humans pursuing them until a dementor was right upon them. Ingrid walked around the room, searching through the boxes for anything that might help.

"Get out of that stuff, you don't know what it is," Justin snarked, and Colin sighed in relief. At least one thing was back to normal.

"Ingrid, try climbing on the roof- I'll help you up. We need to see what's going on," Colin urged. Ingrid pulled up her trouser legs and stepped up onto the foothold Colin made with his hands, and peered out over the dark, snowy town. Hair flew back from her face above him, snow trailing in the window open above. It was freezing.

"What do you see?" he whispered.

"I think they're moving south- I don't think they realize we're in here," she said. "There are lights by Madam Puddifoots, but none coming this way,"

"Great," said Dennis. "Now we just have to wait until another comes this way, pick him off, and then we're really screwed. I mean, they have to KNOW we're here, Colin did magic!"

"I don't think it works that way," Ingrid whispered as she dropped down. Colin rubbed his hands together. For being inside, it was frigid. "The Trace only works if you're in a Muggle area. If there are other wizards around, they can't sense who's doing the magic," Colin agreed.

"Why don't you try that coin again? D'you remember how to work it?"

"Well, it's only Hermione who could use them, actually," Colin reminded Dennis. "We just received the messages, we couldn't send them. I dunno if this coin will even let me, but we have been getting theirs, and they're signed by different names, so . . ."

"So what you're saying is, you need a spell that will let you add a message and send it, but you don't know what will send it? Wouldn't it just be geminio?" Ingrid asked.

"No, that would make another coin. I want the message to add onto theirs, not onto a totally new coin," Colin explained. Dennis stomped his feet. "Is there any other way we could get there? Even if some students are there, they probably can't let us in. And remember what the snatcher said before we stunned him? He said school wasn't back in session yet."

"Ingrid, is there anything on the Hogwarts grounds that detects outsiders?"

"Yes. The Headmaster's office is alerted, and the groundskeeper has an alert too if someone uses the front gate."

"Dammit. It could never be easy, could it?" Colin mused, and Ingrid shrugged her shoulders.

"I don't know what we were thinking. We'll be lucky to get out of this alive. I say we wait for morning and then get Justin to side-Along us one by one," Ingrid began, but then Colin cut her off.

"NO! D'you really want to go back to wondering all the time? I'm sick of sitting around and bagging groceries while the whole world is going to pot!" he screamed, louder than he'd intended, and Justin started laughing wildly. "POT!" he shrieked, and Ingrid shushed him, pulling a hand over his mouth to stifled his giggles. "That's what I got- POT! You guys gave me pot! Oh, this is awesome!" he chortled, and Ingrid rolled her eyes. Dennis kicked Justin half-heartedly and then pulled Colin aside.

"Did Harry every show you any of those secret passageways that he knew about? Ginny used to talk about Fred and George knowing some. Suppose we go to their shop?"

"Too dangerous. We don't know it hasn't been taken out- plus, what if we draw attention to them and put them in danger? I dunno about you, but I fancy keeping my head bogey-free," Colin replied, hoisting him above on his shoulders.

"Can you see the castle?"

"Yes. Looks dark, mostly. Just a few lights. Yeah, looks like school isn't back on yet. It is Monday night, though- you'd think- hey, wait a minute . . . there are carriage lights!!! Carriage lights on the road!"

Dennis toppled over in his excitement and Colin pulled his brother up. "You mean they're going back to school right now? They're moving back in tonight?"

"YEAH! We must have hit the day right, they're all coming back up the hill now! I could see a bunch of little lights going up the road- it must be the carriages coming from the train station!"

"We should try to join up! Act like we're just coming back from Holiday with everyone else!" Ingrid offered excitedly.

"But if any of the Slytherins around, we don't know what they'll do- they might turn us in. Hell, I'd be surprised if they didn't," Colin reminded, and the others moaned in frustration.

"The lights are pretty!" Justin crowed from above, and Colin tugged on his pant leg as he balanced on a cardboard box. Justin fell over with a loud oomph.

"Not now, Justin- you can look at the lights later. Much later." Colin sighed. He was never going to experiment with drugs again- especially on another person.

"Anyone else say we just walk up to the gates and stun Filch?"

"But what if it's not just Filch?!!"

"I don't care, I want to get home!"

"Dennis, calm down. Ingrid, we're not running into anything dangerous. Justin, put that down, whatever it is. I got us into this, and I'm going to get us out of this mess," Colin suggested, but Ingrid just laughed.

"What, because you're the wizard and you want to be Potter? You can't save us any better than I can," she laughed. Colin glared at her in the dark of the musty attic.

"I'm not doing it because I'm male, if that's what you mean. I'm doing it because you're sitting here fighting and Dennis is scared and exciteable, and Justin- well-" he gestured to Justin, who had discovered some form of purple gum and was blowing gigantic bubbles that clung to the ceiling.

"Wait a minute, what is that?" Colin asked, pulling the wrapper out of Justin's hand.

"Drooooooobles!" Justin grinned, blowing another gigantic bubble.

"We might be able to use this, you know. Look around, is there any more?" he asked, and Ingrid pulled a handful of the violet colored gum out from a packing crate.

"Enough to build a bubble fort. Why?"

"We can fly in. Hermione always said that the founders had wards to keep students in and intruders out, but students can always get in! This is it- we fly in over the gate and up to the windows! As long as our feet don't touch the ground, we don't set off any alarms for the grounds! They're tied to the soil!!!" he cried, and began tearing wrappers off the gum.

"Everyone chew a few pieces- we're going to need a huge set of bubbles,"

"Colin, this is ridiculous! We'll die!" Ingrid argued, but she shut up once he gave her a look. "Do you have a better plan?" Colin asked, and Ingrid shoved gum in her mouth and gave a few disgruntled smacks with her lips.

"Co-win, wha –oo- yoo – ink 'um–ould –oo?"

"What?" Colin ased Dennis, perplexed.

Dennis spat a wad of purple gum onto his palm.

"I said, what do you think the gum could do?"

"Oh, that. We blow bubbles around us and fly up to the dorms. Then when the bubbles reach the windows, they pop, and we stick to the windows. It's perfect."

"Unless there's any wind at all, or we pop before we get there, or someone sees us!" Ingrid spat.

"I know it's not foolproof, but come on, what is?" Colin asked, and Ingrid rifled through some of the boxes.

"Here, I found propellers. Remember those mini fans Zonkos used to sell around summertime?" she asked, holding up a tiny fan strapped to a headband. They had been all the rage for students who couldn't do a decent cooling charm. Colin found spellotape in the corner and they fastened activated propellers onto their arms and the back of each leg, as well as one on the back of each head. A deep, cold breeze filled the room, and Colin shivered. "OK, what next?" Dennis spoke, and he could barely be heard over the whirring now filling the room. The tiny fans gave off huge gusts of air, and Colin gnawed on his bulge of gum, wrapping it around his tongue.

"BLOW!" he said, throwing open the window. He sucked in air and plumped out his cheeks, pushing voraciously, and slowly the bubbles formed, growing bigger and bigger, and the room took on a purple glow before him. The bubble hit his arms and stuck to the back of each hand, and then his knees were captured. He rose up, holding onto the gum with his teeth where the bubble ended, and let the giant purple bauble carry him up to the window ledge.

Strangely weightless, he shifted his hands a bit, angling to direct his bubble out the window. Gentle snow fell onto the purple bulb, which was barely visible before him in the darkness of the new moon. A sliver of silver hung above them, making the snow glint against black shadows on the ground. Forty feet up, and rising- but slowly, so slowly that he didn't fear he would pass over Hogwarts completely.

He couldn't speak, but the others were beside him, and feeling his pack with his wand still securely on his back, Colin bent his knees so he drifted down a bit, mingling beside the others.

"LEES GO NAAO," his voice vibrated inside the bubble, magnified and tickling, and he drew in breaths of cold air as he floated forward towards the lights.

The castle drew nearer in the dark, and soon they had passed the gates and the whirring of the fans began to fade audibly.

"CO-WIN, WE ARR FAH-ING!" came Ingrid's blubber beside him. The purple globes were gleaming in the light of the carriages fifty feet below, but no one had spotted them yet.

"AH KNOW, UST KEEP BLO-ING" he hummed out the bubble, and the others began paddling with their arms to try to help the fans. It was like swimming in a way; they blew into their balloons occasionally to keep themselves afloat, and they rose and fell with the wind, hoping the fans could hold out for five more minutes.

A cry went up below them and suddenly students were poking their heads out of the carriages; they'd been spotted. Spells went up in the air around them, some sickly orange, others warding them from attack; five figures burst from the door and Colin could see them casting spells through his bubble.

"MOOO! GET UP!" he cried as loudly as he could, and began to blow again and again into his bubble to get out of range. The figures by the door looked like teachers, and they were sure to bring them down. The four floated higher, snow whipping hair and faces, and Colin saw the overhanging when it was already too late.

With an almighty smack, each balloon hit the rocks and burst, and the four scrambled to make it onto the ledge. Dennis pulled Colin up over the overhanging of stones, and Ingrid was already trying to break the window to get them in. Colin looked down over the edge and nearly vomited; they were at least a hundred feet up, and the students crowded below them, fighting what looked like Snape and two other teachers, were tiny faces too far off to recognize. A bright yellow spell rocketed past his face and another almost hit his shoulder before Dennis pulled him back.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! HELP US GET IN!" he cried, and Colin pulled out his wand and send unlocking spells and reductos at the glass.

A figure raced up behind the window and suddenly the glass splintered, falling in a million glittering pieces to cover the floor. A girl he didn't recognize in Slytherin robes was uncovering her face, where many tiny cuts from the glass peppered her skin.

"C'mon, follow me," she said, but Dennis started dueling her.

"Follow you so you can what, snake? Take us to Snape?" he snarled, and Colin pulled him back.

"How do we know we can trust you?" he asked, sending up a shield before his crew.

"Ginny sent me. I'm a prefect, they'll trust me. You can stun me once I let you in, it'll look fine," she said quickly.

"Let us in to what?" Colin asked.

"The Room!" she insisted, pulling him along behind her. "Hurry!" she urged, and Colin ignored the angry protestations of Dennis and pulled Justin behind him. This was not the time to dillydally, as Luna would have aptly put it.

"Which room are you taking us to? We can't go to Gryffindor dorms, they'll find us immediately!" Ingrid argued.

"Do you really think I'm that stupid? Why do you think Slytherins always survive?" the girl snapped, charging up the steps. "It's because we've always got a good place to hide," she gestured, pulling open a door. Colin stepped inside to be buried in a rush of red and brown as Ginny and Neville crashed into him.

"Wha? What is this? Is this . . . is this the Room of Requirement?!?" he wondered aloud, but the others were ignoring him. Hannah Abbott and Seamus Finnegan were pulling the Slytherin girl out the door, yelling for someone to watch the map, and Ginny was dragging Justin off to another room, who was giggling even more incessantly, and Neville was pulling him aside, pointing his wand at him and barking at him "what was the first picture you took of Ron?"

"Erm- he was burping up slugs," Colin whimpered, seeing the hard look above the wand.

"Sorry, Colin, I had to check. Ingrid, good to see you. What's your favorite Quidditch team?"

"Wimbourne Wasps," she said proudly, hugging a crying Audrey to her.

Neville clapped him on the back and hugged Dennis. "You guys should have told us you were coming, we'd have made it a heckuva lot easier for you," he grinned, and Hannah came rushing back in. Neville swept over to her in a single step and swooped her up into his arms, kissing her soundly. Colin stared. What the hell had happened to his friends?

"She's set up? Whose wand did you use?"

"Seamus'. You know how noble he's been getting lately. She's in the second floor charms corridor, not too far but far enough that they'll think they're hiding out in Hufflepuff. We couldn't take her further, we heard voices coming. Seamus is really going to be hurting tomorrow," she said sorrowfully, and Neville kissed her again.

"Er, sorry, but what exactly was all that?" Colin asked.

"We had to cover her tracks. Astoria is on our side, but she'd be killed if they realized it in Slytherin. We had to give you all a reliable escape story so they wouldn't keep looking for you around here," Hannah explained, and Neville strode off to watch the Map above the front door, where the tiny dot of Seamus was being pulled behind the dots labeled "Alecto" and "Amycus".

Neville grimaced. "Yeah, you might want to thank him later- he's not going to walk right for a few days." Colin nodded, still overwhelmed. The room itself was transformed, even as much as his friends were.

"Godric, Nev, this place looks like its own school," he said, his eyes hitting on the open training room and the spell books spread over the tables.

"Well, it kind of is, for us at least," Neville shrugged. "C'mon, Dennis, we'll get you a bed- I expect Ginny will be done subduing Justin soon. I dunno what he got hit with, but it's messed him up bad," Neville added, and Colin looked over, guilty.

"Actually, that was us. We drugged him. He was the only one old enough to buy train tickets but he didn't want to go," he admitted, and Neville whistled.

"That's even better," he said, and Colin laughed.

"COLIN! WHAT DID YOU DO TO THIS BOY!" came Ginny's thundering voice from the other room. Hannah chuckled at Colin's pale face and slapped him on the back.

"Yeah, she's one of our resident healers, along with me and Susan. Good luck explaining narcotics to Ginny Weasley," she laughed, and Neville pulled Colin up the stairs.

"Let me get her, you don't know how to handle her when she gets like this. I can talk her down," Neville urged, pushing Colin up.

"But it's Gin, I mean, she's been my friend since first year," Colin argued, poised on the steps between an eager Dennis and a recalcitrant Ingrid.

"Gin might love you to death, but she's not going to be impressed with how you guys got in here. It was a nice act, yeah, but it cost Seamus a night of being beaten up and you didn't give us any warning. She's downright nasty when she wants to rant, and she hasn't had much chance to with all her normal targets gone- Ron and Harry are both away,"

Colin hurried up the steps, the sinking feeling that had started at the thought of what Seamus must be enduring right now beginning to fester in his chest. _Just what had they come back to?_

Upstairs, though, his mood improved as he looked out the window over the familiar grounds. Something in his heart seemed to clink back into place. Dennis bounced on a fluffy bed, jabbering away with two friends who were in his year. His brother was happier than he'd been in months. Snow or wind, rain or shine, they were back at Hogwarts- and he was going to make the most of it.


	35. A House Elf's Duty

ALACK!!! Being sick is horrible. I've been out for a week from that and before, financial woes- my account was basically stolen and I got a bunch of fees because someone else charged things to my card. It was a ghastly mess- one that took a whole ten days to resolve, and because of this, my mind has obviously been elsewhere. I apologize profusely for the lack of updates, as well as the fact that this random hiatus went on for so terribly long. Back to business- I should have three chapters out in a hurry to try to atone for my fanfic sins, lol- and then back to once-a-week updates.

Cheers!

Jenna

35

Dobby

The bat-eared elf made his way down the steps, but not without some trepidation. Ginny had asked him to do her a favor, and he was going to do it- but it didn't mean he had to like it. He was usually more than pleased (ecstatic might have been a more appropriate term) when the young lady who was Harry Potter's love asked for his help amongst all the elves who served Hogwarts. Today's request was marred by an association he had tried his best to avoid: his old masters.

As Dobby walked the route to the dungeons, one he was accustomed to seeing students traverse on their way to potions, he stopped to admire the artwork now gracing the halls. Several fading but visible portraits of the Carrows with various ailments, including "Moldy-Wart Scourge," "Death-Eater-Diarrhea," and "Greasy-Git-Syndrome" were painted in, followed by a mural in hot pinks that Dobby knew was one of Miss Lavender's own, portraying Snape smooching a rather feminine Dark Lord, complete with pink, lacy hearts encircling the fresco which glowed when students passed by. The elves had been "unable" to use their own brand of cleaning magic to remove the graffiti, and with a slew of new Valentines' Day themed works covering nearly every available surface, Filch had grown lethal. Dobby had been less than pleased when the Carrows had reinstituted the Inquisitorial Squad following Christmas, a band of mostly Slytherin students who were intent on punishing "traitors to the Dark Lord, Mudbloods, and lesser creatures," which Dobby had known included the house elves. With ten students now living in the Room permanently and Ginny, a wanted fugitive, hiding in the castle, the elves had been hard-pressed to supply the Room with food without raising the suspicions of the Headmaster, who kept track of all meals served, unlike his predecessor. Dobby had a sneaky suspicion that the Headmaster knew there were students now living somewhere in the castle, and he hoped that tracking food would give away their location. Students were now required to take their meals by class as well, so sixth years had seats away from first and second years, who were made to sit at the front of the tables, closest to the Carrows. The changes that had happened since the Holidays were palpable in the air: stricter security, more angry violence from the Slytherins who supported the Carrows, and a tighter leash on what the house elves could do to help. Dobby now had a curfew of eleven- he had to be back in the kitchens before that time or risk punishment, even as a free elf. It was a sorry mess.

The boy who had approached him several times throughout the term was waiting where Ginny said he would be, tall and gangly and sick-looking. Dobby eyed his green and silver tie nervously. The desire to run back to Miss Ginny and tell her that the Lestrange boy was not there was strong.

"Is you having any dirty clothes for the washing, sir?" he asked.

"Yes. Come into the common room, we've got a bunch for you lot," came the reply, and Dobby waited while the door was opened before him and then scampered inside. The walls shone dank and green in the hallway, and then the room opened out into a circle of comfortable armchairs and the trademark slytherin hangings and tapestries. A huge portrait of Salazar Slytherin, the man who enslaved the first house elf, hung above a maginificent fireplace. Dobby gulped. Several curious students raised eyes- house elves were only present when they were summoned, otherwise, they were meant to be invisible cleaners- and two huge, hulking boys with mean glares tried to trip Dobby as he went. He squeaked when one's foot connected with his backside and the huge tower of hats on his head- the ones he refused to take off, even after it drew violent pushes from any Slytherins he encountered- fell off with a soft plop. Before he could do anything, another boy had pointed his wand at the hats and flames licked them up, nipping at his heels. Dobby hurried up to the Lestrange boy, who laughed at his tears and dragged him into the dormitory.

"You shouldn't have kept them. It isn't safe." Came his old master's voice. Tall and blonde, Draco Malfoy was sitting at a mahogany desk, throwing a model of a snitch into the air and catching it again. "Nice broom you've got here, Lestrange- pity you can't use it," he sneered, and Dobby walked to get the pile of clothes that were lying at the foot of the beds.

"Fat load of good your own fancy broom is doing you, too- at least I would have gotten on the team on talent," the other boy shot back, and Draco flung the snitch at his shoulder. Lestrange caught it deftly and rolled to the ground, peeling off his fine polished boots and stuffing his socks onto the pile growing in Dobby's arms.

Slytherin robes, socks, pants, and a smattering of towels were crammed on top of the load, and then Draco plucked up one of Lestranges' pillow covers.

"Geeze, can't you stop that drooling? Elf, wash this immediately. See that our resident slob has clean sheets at once," he demanded, thrusting the garment at Dobby's head. It caught on his ears, unusually heavy, and Dobby felt his heart jump. Was the package in here?

The boys began to laugh unpleasantly. "That's what you should be wearing, elf, not some loony hats," Lestrange sniggered, and then he set the pillow case on fire. A hot burst burned his ears and Dobby squealed, dropping the clothes and hitting his head, trying to put out the fire. Lestrange laughed in the background and then a cascade of water hit him off his feet, and the fire sizzled out, steam filling the room.

"Enough. He used to wear one. Who gives a damn what an elf wears? I thought you were above all this, Lestrange. Getting him killed is just going to go on your record," Malfoy's voice commanded, and Dobby's long fingers traced over his scalp, feeling the singed parts that stung when touched. Young Master Malfoy had saved him? Or did he just want to avoid trouble?

"Get to it, Elf- those sheets are still waiting," Malfoy hissed impatiently, and Dobby's jaw dropped when the young master cocked an eyebrow in Lestrange's direction, and then stunned the boy is a single, fluid movement with no sound as his back was turned to drying the now-soggy broom.

"I can't keep him like that for long. You're to let Ginny know that Luna is safe for now, but she needs to get a message to that idiot father of hers to shut down his cooky magazine. I have this bracelet for Neville from Luna. She says it's charmed to get rid of his ruckspats or something. Tell Ginny that Lestrange may be turning- Bellatrix tried to indoctrinate him over the hols, and he says he killed two Muggles. I dunno if they really died, but he tortured them, I saw it. Get back to Ginny and tell her she's got a mole- do you understand?" Malfoy demanded, shaking Dobby by the shoulders.

"Yes Young Master Malfoy. Dobby is telling her all you is saying tonight," Dobby replied, and then he pulled the clothes pile back up to tower over him and disapparated back into the laundry rooms.

Steam rose around him. A huge vat of bleaching underthings from the girl's seventh and fifth years were soaking, being paddled about by Quirky and Veweeble. They wore tiny masks along with their togas to cover their mouths from the fumes. A second vat was filled with magical scrub brushes, which were attacking the cumulative dirty pants from the boys third and fourth years. Several dark socks kept trying to escape, only to be hunted down and thrown back into the wash by a diligent Ascher, who was picking them up with tongs whenever they scurried out of the hot water. They left sloppy wet trails along the floor, and tiny Zebuloni followed Ascher, wiping up the water and pointing out the next escapee. A purple sock with a Chinese fireball embroidered on it made a getaway attempt and was promptly clamped under Ascher's tongs, where it squealed while being thrown back into the water. The sock's mate began a wrestling match with the tongs, its own dragon puffing tiny flames at the metallic utensil, and Zebuloni waved to Dobby as she spritzed fabric softening potion at the renegade. The sock fell over, limp, and joined it's fellows in the bath.

"Miss Ginny's socks is impatient to be getting to her feet tonight," Zebuloni said, and Dobby nodded.

"We is needing to dry them soon- they gets testy if they feels soggy for too long," he replied, sorting out the Slytherin bedding. Six others hurried over and pulled apart the load, and Dobby had to hurry to grab the pillow case and hide the bracelet and the strange little skull-shaped bottle that came with it. Another clinked out onto the floor and two of the elves froze, looking at the glass-snake that rolled across the floor.

"Dobby, you is stealing you bad elf!" cried Pasty, who pointed her finger at him accusingly.

"No I isn't! I was asked to take these clothes and I takes them, and I is not knowing what is in them! I will bring it back!" Dobby yelled back. Zebuloni pulled him aside and handed him the snake-shaped vial.

"I doesn't like to have dark potions in here, Dobby, but I knows you didn't do it on purpose," she said, examining his expression, and Dobby nodded. Her eyes squinted at his head. "Why is your hats missing? And your hair is all gone!" she cried quietly.

"One of the young masters set my hats on fire. I is fine though. I will ask Miss Ginny to heal it for me," he whispered, tucking the snake-vial next to the skull and the bracelet inside his toga pocket. They clinked together again and Dobby grabbed Miss Ginny's favorite purple socks and walked over to the steam-dryer.

"I will takes these ones to her, they is causing enough trouble tonight," he told Mippy, who smiled and handed him a folded pile of Miss Ginny's things. "Make sure the Headmaster is not seeing you- he will know they is hers from the pretty colors. She is the only one who has dragon socks."

Dobby lay the now-limp purple socks on the conveyor and watched as the belt spun them towards the Presser, a huge rolling cylinder than magically ironed out any wrinkles in shirts and pants. The excess water seeped out, running down the sides, and then a burst of magic behind the Presser dried the socks. Done with washing, they were content to lie flat in his hand and be neatly folded. Dobby gave the dragon on each sock a nice back scratch and trotted out of the laundry, hiding the telltale socks under a Gryffindor shirt and tie. The pile stretched six shirts tall, most of them school-uniforms, although there was a deep green sweater and a midnight blue button-up shirt in there as well. He took a shortcut to the fourth floor, and soon he was in front of the Room. Pulling out his charmed safety pin, he clamped it tight and the door appeared for his eyes only. Terry Boot had finished charming the six house-elf safety pins in leu of Miss Luna, and now the six elves loyal to Dumbledore's Army could pass into the Room as they needed, without being let in. Inside the Room was filled with boxes of pink confetti, a shipment of skiving snackboxes, fireworks, permanent paints, decepto-quills and brushes, and an assortment of lurid pink-and-white cupid dolls, each carrying a set of chocolates and a tiny bow and arrow. The dolls were silent now, but Dobby had a feeling from the maniacal smiles painted on each one that once Valentines' day came next week, they would be far from harmless.

Miss Ginny was not in the common room, so Dobby carried his tower of slacks and socks up the stairs, noting that while there were the sounds of movement in some of the other rooms, very few students were in the Room tonight. It had become policy with the stricter security in the castle to have a set team in the Room to handle any emergencies, and a crew of four to tail the Carrows, Snape, and occasionally some of the oldest Slytherins, including Pansy Parkinson and Crabbe and Goyle. The elves were set to following the first three after 7 A.M. until most lessons were over at 3, but after this, the fifth years took up their posts. Though the teachers didn't know it, there were eyes from Dumbledore's Army on every floor and in nearly every corridor 24/7, alert for attacks on students.

Dobby tripped on the last staircase and pulled himself up. When Ginny had come back from holidays, the Room had changed when she entered the dormitory, giving her private quarters separate from the girl's dormitory room. Miss Ginny had sighed heavily at the sight of the brass name-plate on her new bedroom, which read, "Ginny Weasley: Gryffindor Team Liason, Healer, and Refugee". She had grudgingly admitted to Hannah that it seemed the Room knew her better than she did herself; perhaps she did need some time to herself after all that had happened. Dobby knew she was up all hours of the day now that she was confined to the Room; she had taken on three battle-training groups, staging mock battles in the Training Room three times a week with each group of fifth and sixth years, and she was tutoring no less than thirty students in ward-making and healing spells each week. Her only escape from the Room seemed to be a weekly meeting with Aberforth, Fred, and George, who sent out information for students' families. Only one "mail-drop" had been achieved since the students came back for holidays, and Fred and George had almost been captured when Snatchers interrupted the portkeying letters they were releasing. Dobby had been called by a frantic Ginny to disapparate the twins when they were pinned down in an alley in Hogsmeade by sixteen Snatchers, all intent on capturing "those Weasley brats", who had cast anti-disapparition wards.

Dobby paused at Ginny's door, listening to the soft sobs that were coming from within. Was Miss Ginny hurt? He knocked softly twice and then opened the door, peeking in, when she did not answer.

Her room was small but warm, and had a magicked window that displayed the sloping, frozen grounds outside and the Forbidden Forest at the edge, branches iced and shining silvery in the moonlight. Ginny was curled up in the armchair that sat by the window, and she began furiously wiping tears off her face and stood when she saw him.

"Sorry, Dobby, I lost track of time- did you get the things Malfoy had for us?"

"Miss Ginny, you is sad?" Dobby asked woefully, his ears drooping. Ginny smiled weakly back, shaking her head.

"A bit, Dobby, just tired. I failed a simulation today pretty hard and I hurt my elbow, but there's no way really to heal rug-burn with magic, just some creams for skin healing. Shit, Dobby, what happened to your head?!!?" she cried, examining his burned skin and the bright red ears that peeked through.

"Dobby does not wish to speak of it. Will Miss Ginny please heal his ears?"

Ginny took the two vials he proferred curiously and locked them safely in her desk, on top of her unicorn- covered journal. Dobby had seen other journals Miss Ginny kept, and he quite preferred this one she'd started last year, where the most magic that happened was the unicorn on the cover prancing and neighing occasionally.

Dobby tumbled down the stairs after Ginny, who went flying to the infirmary, her bare feet slapping down the staircase. A thick layer of carpet grew out of the stairs, muffling her feet as she ran.

"Relax, Terry, it's just me, nothing's happened- go back to snogging Paddy!" she chuckled as she ran past, and a door closed in the boys dormitory, cutting off Padma's indignant response.

Dobby entered the infirmary and sat on one of the four beds. Two were filled; a first year who'd been held by her wrists in the dungeon and tortured for two hours earlier that day was playing wizards chess with Sylvia, who had stayed to comfort her as her skin regrew and her bones mended. Seamus was knocked out by a strong potion in the last bed. He'd been ambushed by a gang of Slytherins coming out of the boy's loo after charms and Ginny had informed Dobby that the marks on his shoulders would be permanent.

She ripped through a hefty tome, tapping her wand on her temple. Sparks flew out and Dobby jumped back, nervous, and Ginny gave him an apologetic smile. "Sorry, Dobby, I didn't mean to frighten you. I promise I won't set ANYTHING on fire around you without letting you know first."

She pulled down another book from the shelf and thumbed through it, then rummaged through a cabinet full of salves and creams and jars. She pulled out a box of skiving snackbox pills and bit off half, spitting it into the sink.

"Take this, it'll help your skin heal after I'm done with the ointment. I don't know how well it will work for elves, but I checked a magical creatures and beings text of Ernie's, and it should have the same properties for elf skin," she explained softly, scooping out a bit of cold tan cream and smoothing it over his scalp. Dobby's ears tingled unpleasantly and then he felt the skin begin to heal and cool.

"Oh, thank you Miss! You is so good to Dobby!" he exclaimed, and Ginny bent down and hugged him.

"I'm so sorry you got hurt Dobby. If I'd have known it was putting you in that kind of danger, I would have sent Terry, he's on call tonight. It's just getting so dangerous to have them out at night, disillusioned, cloaked, or not- the blasted Inquisitorial Squad has been patrolling like crazy."

She eyed his head, then glanced down as Dobby's fingers touched the tips of his cooling ears.

"Dobby, what did they do to your hats?" she said quietly.

"They is burned up, Miss," he admitted, and tears filled his tennis-ball eyes.

"Wait here, Dobby. I still want to talk but I'll be back in a moment," she said, and then she left the room. Dobby watched Sylvia and Renee sipping hot chocolate Padma had made them and giggling over the chess pieces' antics.

Ginny returned holding a soft, deep red bundle. "It's one of my favorites, Mum made it for me for Christmas last year," she said, pulling the woolen hat down and cutting holes for his ears with her wand. The cap slid on, complete with fuzzy crimson pom-pom on top. Dobby burst into happy tears and blubbered his thanks as Ginny pulled out a pair of matching red socks, complete with tiny Gryffindor crests.

"I made these special for you for Valentines' Day, but I gather you might like them now instead," she said with a happy grin. "See the bottoms?"

Dobby turned the precious treasure over, thinking that he might never wash these socks if they proved as unruly as all of Ginny's ones, and began to jump up and down and hug her, sending the girls in the cot over into gales of laughter.

"Dobby can step on the Carrows! Dobby will never put his feet up, Miss Ginny!" he crowed, slipping them onto his knobbly toes and trying to follow her out into the kitchen.

"Sit down, Dobby, I'll make us some toast," she offered, but it was too much.

"Oh NO, Miss, I can't let Miss Ginny serve Dobby! Dobby must serve Miss Ginny!" he insisted, but Ginny was firm. "Enough, Dobby, let me do it once. I promise I won't burn it," she chuckled.

"Do you like tea? Pumpkin juice?"

"Tea is tasting strange for house elves, Miss. We is only drinking pumpkin juice or butterbeer, but not too much, or else we is sick," he said, trying to climb up onto one of the chairs. Ginny turned back from the cupboard she was pulling boxes from and sent a burst of pink light at the chair, which shrunk down so Dobby could sit. As soon as he was seated, he clasped his hands and began to wiggle his toes in his new socks, only to grab hold of the chair as it grew again to full height. Ginny set down a tray of biscuits and a glass of hot mulled pumpkin juice, steaming up his nose, and Dobby took a tiny sip and grinned from ear to ear.

"You makes good drinks, Miss. Dobby has never had someone else make him his drink."

Ginny nibbled on a biscuit and slurped down some hot chocolate. "Now, what did Draco tell you?"

"Young Master Malfoy says that Miss Luna is safe. You needs to tell her father that he should stop printing the Quibbler, Miss Ginny," Dobby said, pausing to eat a biscuit. Sugar crumbled off the top and he jumped off the chair to clean it up off the floor. Ginny giggled and shrunk his chair again so he could climb up.

"He is saying to Dobby that he has the bracelet for Mister Neville from Miss Luna, and it is to keep away the rucksparts," he parroted, and Ginny sniggered into her hot chocolate, blowing some out her nose and onto the table. She pulled Dobby's hands to keep him from getting down to get a rag, got out her wand and magicked it away, and Dobby continued. "He says that Miss Ginny has a mole."

"A mole?" she asked, getting up to look in the mirror. "I don't have any birthmarks he could have seen. What do you mean, a mole?"

"Dobby is just told that Lestrange is a mole, Miss Ginny. You is needing to be very careful," he added, trying to remember what Young Master Malfoy had said about Lestrange's holiday activities.

"Young Master Malfoy says that Lestrange is torturing and killng two Muggles over Christmas, Miss. He is a bad wizard," Dobby finished, shuddering.

"A mole, you say? Hmm. Well, we'll have to deal with this soon," she said quietly, her chin set. Dobby sipped at his pumpkin juice happily.

"Does you think we could do this again, Miss? Dobby can make the drinks next time," he offered hopefully. Ginny smiled. "Sure Dobby. We can talk whenever you want." Dobby's smile hit the rim of his hat.


	36. Two Inches From Triumph

36

Ernie

Well it wasn't as if he hadn't warned him. Neville was a great chap, but he wasn't the brightest when it came to self-preservation. It didn't help that the damn cupids were more kamikaze than cutie-pies; the bloody things had been hunting down Slytherins and shooting them with their charmed arrows that stayed stuck to the student's clothes for hours, glowing and singing "My Funny Valentine" in shrill voices. McGonagall had been peeved, even though she'd admitted she was impressed to the seventh years, asking Neville if the cupids were from Fred and George. Neville grinned and admitted they were a Weasley invention, but refused to tell her that Ginny had been the one doing all the charming.

Ernie was currently on guard duty, which was proving rather hectic for a day that was supposed to be about love and snogging couples. He hadn't gotten any action from Susan, who refused to let him take her for a walk around the grounds, claiming she had homework, and he'd been unsticking cupids left and right from DA members who'd been accidentally hit instead of the real targets. Snape had been lethal: he'd been hit by twelve cupids before lunch, and had been seen stalking the halls like a wounded bear, shooting down every cupid he saw with blazes of orange that burned them up to ashes in seconds.

The Carrows were faring no better, it seemed. Ernie was enjoying watching the special Valentine's Day trolls, an idea copied from the Guilderoy Lockhart days, who had been popping up and stalking the Carrows from class to class, singing lurid love songs that all involved one or the other of them marrying Voldemort. Ernie wasn't quite sure which troll had been kinxed the most, and currently he was disillusioned outside Alecto's classroom, redirecting students away when the trolls came for her, since they could take her wrath and only Merlin knew who might get hit when she got angry. Ernie himself had been hit by a blasting hex and two burning hexes, though he healed each in a minute or two. An invisible beater's bat hung at his side, waiting to be used if any of the Slytherins tried to paint over or muddle the newest decorations outside Alecto's room.

All in all, Ernie thought Dean would have been proud. Colin and Justin had debuted their first of many murals to come with a depiction of Alecto marrying her own brother to preserve the bloodline, captioned with, "The Happy Newlyweds Prepare to Shag Like Rabbits". Alecto was drawn holding a black rose in her teeth and a black, slinky dress that showed off her rotund middle; Amycus was debonair in death eater robes two sizes too small, which made certain parts of his anatomy clearly absent. Ernie thought he looked like a middle-aged ballerina with boots.

While it was fun to torture the Slytherins who passed by charming the confetti Hannah and Susan had made to cover them in snowstorm fashion, and watching Filch snap at anything that moved was certainly amusing, Ernie was still withdrawn. He couldn't figure out why Susan was rebuffing him at every move, making excuses for not dating even though it was obvious she fancied him back. Even Hannah had apologized to him, telling him that he needed to be patient, because Susan was scared. Susan? SCARED? Ernie had never been more perplexed in his life. He'd brought her roses charmed to last a whole month and given them to her in front of half the DA that morning, while they were setting up the Valentine's day confetti and activating over eight hundred cupids. It had been monstrous to hear them all singing in the same room:

"His eyes are as green as a fresh pickled toad,

His hair is as dark as a blackboard.

I wish he were mine, he's really divine,

The hero who'll conquer the Dark Lord!"

Or, Ernie's personal favorite,

"Baby I'm amazed by all you do,

I'd give anything for you,

If you'd just join me in the fight,

To preserve all that is right.

You've put a spell on me,

As any witch or wizard can see,

And Moldy-Warts won't be here for long,

So baby keep me warm til he's gone!"

Seamus' choice had been the most popular, though admittedly the one that caused the teachers to get rid of cupids that entered their classrooms. It was usually accompanied by heart-shaped Weasley Fireworks, many of which morphed into silhouettes of x-rated couples if Snape or the Carrows tried to vanish or banish them. Seamus had been given the honor of making the final song, but Ernie was left wondering if Seamus knew that Valentines' Day was about wooing your bird, not banging her:

"Oh yeah, witches, give me a wink,

Frumpy-tits ain't watchin', so let's have a peek,

Death Eaters got hate, so let's bring the love,

I give your hair a tug and you give me a rub,

Moldy-Warts is angry 'cause he ain't got no game,

He can crucio and kill, but he can't land a dame!"

The echoes of words like "rub," "Frumpy-Tits," and "Fresh-Pickled Toad" could be heard even through classroom walls. Some, like Flitwick, merely chuckled and awarded points when students could list off possible charms that could be used to make the cupids. Sprout had handed out fresh cut flowers to any chap who could tell her what plants could be used to make the dyes used for the cupid's garish outfits- and Neville had walked out of Greenhouse 3 with a huge bouquet of magnificent amaryllis for Hannah. Ernie had gone to the trouble of ordering flowers from Diagon Alley, even having them spell-wrapped to protect them from the snow, and Susan had graciously accepted them only to turn him down! The chance to finally tell her how he felt, to maybe give those red lips a kiss- and especially, to tell her how fantastic he thought she was- had slipped through his fingers, and he's spent the rest of the day wondering what he was doing wrong.

Another group of Slytherins came tearing around the corner, being chased by two wickedly laughing cupids that were flying fast, shooting arrows at Crabbe and Pansy. Pansy had an entire entourage of cupids that were charmed to bond to her like Sticking Solution. The effect was spectacular, Ernie had to admit: she had been fleeing the twenty-five "Pansy-Poachers" as Neville had nicknamed them for hours, and her hair was currently frazzled beyond recognition from all the running.

Ernie set off more confetti with a flick of his wand, and soon Pansy was encased in a typhoon of little red and pink bits that swirled dangerously, lifting her off her feet with a shriek.

Ernie chuckled as she ran off, followed closely by her goons, and paced back and forth outside the door to Alecto's. It was almost time for his shift to end- dinner was over, and his stomach was growling. Half an hour of pacing passed, and Quentin showed up to finish the evening watch on Alecto. Ernie's greeting soured when he saw the lip gloss smudged all over Quentin's happy face. Honestly, was he the only bloke not having a grand day today? Was he going to be the only man left un-snogged by tonight?

Ernie trudged back to the Room, ready to report in to Neville or Ginny and get some grub from the kitchen. With some well-placed refilling charms on tins and boxes, they'd had an easier time getting food to feed those on watch-duty each afternoon and night, and there was a never-empty milk jug in the cooler that was always good for making hot chocolate after a long shift. Susan always made him one when he came back, and they'd discuss the healer class they were teaching to the first and second years in Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff who couldn't join the DA yet, but needed to know how to heal cuts and burns. She put whip cream on top once and Ernie got it all over his upper lip, and Susan had flicked it off with her thumb. That single touch had been burned into his mind for weeks, and he didn't think he'd ever get sick of hot chocolate after that.

For recreation, he'd perfected a spell to accelerate freezing the lake outside, and after it was established that six feet down was frozen, students had been ice skating for the past week during what little daylight there was after class. As Valentine's Day drew nearer, the skaters began to couple off bit by bit, until Ernie didn't feel like skating because Susan wouldn't go with him if it was "just the two of them". Honestly, did she think he was going to whisk her away to shag in four feet of snow? He had morals, you know.

Ernie walked into the Room and lifted his disillusion charm.

"Mike's on for me, what did you girls make for supper?" he asked Hannah, who was sitting on a very satisfied looking Neville's lap and playing with the hair beside his ears.

"There's beef tips with rice and broccoli in the kitchen under a warming charm, and Dobby brought sugar cookies for us," she replied, still staring deep into Neville's eyes. Ernie rolled his eyes at their antics and followed his nose into Luna's purple kitchen. It was too bad she wasn't here to see all this, he thought, as he loaded a plate and tucked in. The Room had been decorated too, sporting pink plates, deep red swatches of silk hanging from the ceiling, and heart-shaped ends to the silverware. Soft candlelight graced the tables, and at least six couples sat at private booths along the wall, sipping coffee or butterbeer. Or one another's saliva. Ernie sighed. It seemed like today, he couldn't escape. It was all well and good when it was just after Holidays, and everyone was coming back to the same depressing castle filled with rules and danger and anxious waiting for _something_ to happen, but it seemed like everyone else was taking a vacation from fear and worry, and he was the only one left out.

He walked back out, surly and frustrated, to eat in the common room. Neville and Hannah were locked in a slow, heated kiss on the couch, and Ernie had to clear his throat four times before they surfaced.

"Oops, sorry, Ernie. We'll just go work on some homework upstairs," Neville offered, still looking at Hannah, who tinged pink and began to drag him up the stairs. Ernie sat down in his favorite broken-in leather armchair, squashing down the stuffing, and took a sip of his milk.

"It's been like that all day. I can't be around them all without wanting to hex some parts off," came a familiar voice from behind the armchair.

Ernie swallowed a huge gulp of milk and turned in the chair. Susan was sitting cross-legged behind him, gluing pictures into a scrapbook he'd seen her working on. There were photos from the original DA, where Harry stood surrounded by the sixth and seventh years and older, graduated students, all of them casting their patronuses with huge grins. Next to these were photos with Ginny and Neville and Luna teaching battle tactics, Ginny swift and fierce, Neville calculating and powerful, and Luna flicking her wand to demonstrate how a hover charm could be used to lift your opponent without aiming a curse at them, effectively skewing their aim. There were pictures of the new kitchen with Luna and her painters working on the ceiling, levitated by peers, who occasionally "dropped" them for fun, Seamus and Lavender on the couch, caught snogging during a meeting, Padma and Parvati doing their Durmstrang Shield, sweat beading on their foreheads as they grinned, Michael, Terry, and Anthony juggling quaffles while Hannah and Lavender laughed in the background, jinxing Tony to drop his, simulation room teams after their duels, bloody and bruised but with confident, blazing smiles, and groups of fourth and fifth years practicing wards by encasing themselves in tiny protective bubbles in the common room. In more pictures, Silvia, Audrey, and Romilda mixed paints in cauldrons, not knowing that they were splashing their shoes with permanent neon-green spots, Tonks glared at the camera as she was hexed from four different directions, Kingsley and Remus dueled, and in a sneaky shot near the back, Ernie could see his photo-self edging closer to Susan while Neville watched Susan inch away a bit and smiled at Hannah, raising his eyebrows, as the four of them sat on one of the couches and studied.

Ernie sighed, watching Susan finger the edges of the photo. He was always going to be one step away from her, no matter what he did.

"I know what I did was cruel, Ernie. I just can't do this right now," she said softly, breaking his contemplation of the rows of pictures spread before her. She'd been working on the scrapbook for weeks, though she hadn't admitted to Ginny or any of the others who asked the real reason why Ernier knew she needed to do it. Susan was a realist, and she knew, like Ernie, that they were likely all going to die or be tortured beyond recognition within the next two years if the war continued. Already Luna was gone, holed up in some cellar at the mercy of Bellatrix Lestrange, and six others hadn't come back for the term in January. It had been five weeks since they'd returned to a war-zone instead of a school, and even though Ernie knew that it would hurt worse if he and Susan were involved and then one of them died, he was more afraid of the prospect of not getting to love her at all.

"Susan, when is the timing going to be good for you? Does one of us have to be dead before we can admit how we feel?"

Susan was silent, looking at the last photo in her hands. It was a picture of the first DA, and Ginny was in the background, watching Harry with soft doe-eyes.

"How do you think she's going to feel if Harry gets killed? Ginny lives for him, we can all see it. She's not going to make it if he doesn't," she whispered, the unspoken connection hanging between them, thin as lace whisps of a spider's web. A single breath, and it would be gone.

Ernie felt the lump in his throat tighten. For once, he'd speak plainly and forget the elegant delicacies he habitually wooed her with.

"Susan . . ." he started hoarsely, hoping she wouldn't look up and yet dying to see her eyes, "I'd rather be dead than apart, wondering if we'll ever get a chance. For me, it's not a risk to be with you- it's a risk if I'm not."

He bent down, caressing her cheek, and waited. She stared down at the picture, and moments passed as millennia . . . She was quiet, oh so quiet, and her fingers rubbed over one another in a nervous gesture he'd never seen her do. The lump in his throat scratched deep, and he slowly straightened and walked away.

"Soon, Ernie, please. Just a bit longer. I can't . . . please, I don't want . . ."

"It's alright, Susan," he said, regretting the gentleman inside that forced him to wait, to respect her wishes, to not scoop her up and hold her close. His chest felt strung tight as a bow, and the pressure was growing, seizing in his heart and lungs.

Soft, cold fingers touched his own, tentatively rubbed his back. He sucked in a breath.

"Susan, please, don't tease," he said, feeling her arms wrap around his middle snuggly. Her head nestled against his shoulder, and she was flush against him, warm and supple.

"I'm not, Ernest."

Somehow, even though he would have jibed at anyone else who called him by his full name, her words were expected, soothing. She squeezed slightly, hugging his middle, and he turned slowly to face her. Her eyes were calm, more than he'd seen in the last six months.

"You're not?" he asked, quiet enough that he had to repeat himself for her. He stared down, begging with as much hope as he had that he was not about to be set two-inches to the side once more.

"I'm not," she confirmed.

Ernie's eyes drifted of their own accord to the red jewels that she'd just licked, nervous. He glanced back up and leaned in to claim them as his, and her hands were hugging him close.

"AMYCUS HAS QUENTIN AND ROMILDA! THEY'RE CALLING US ALL TO THE GREAT HALL TO WATCH THEM BE WHIPPED! WE'VE GOT TO SAVE THEM!" Screamed Lavender from the door, and within seconds, everything changed: fifty students were scrambling out of the training room and kitchen, pulling on masks and ripping off house ties, Neville, shirtless and furious, was racing down the steps, zipping up his jeans, while Hannah ran behind, buttoning her blouse, and Ernie was stuck as through petrified, his mouth two inches from Susan's red lips.

"Not now," he moaned softly, but Susan pecked him softly and shushed him. "If we make it through this fight, I'll make it up to you later," she said shyly, and Ernie grabbed his wand and donned his mask, handing her a blue one. "Tie up your hair, you don't want it in your face, love," he said, pulling it back from her ears.

Susan pulled up her wand and tapped the ponytail he'd formed, and a black thong slithered out of the tip, circling her locks. Ernie grabbed his medic bag and shrunk it, shoving it into his pocket, and stepped back to avoid being hit by Ginny, who came barreling down the stairs, followed closely by – Ernie's jaw hit the floor- _a shirtless Michael Corner_. Yelling filled the room and he doubted anyone else had noticed, but even in the bustle of getting out the door and listening to Neville bellow battle formations as he pulled on a black shirt, Ernie couldn't help but be intrigued. _Was it coincidence?_ Shrugging off the possibility that Mike had finally worn down the most obstinate witch in the world, he pulled Susan with him to the portal and tapped his wand to her belt.

"If anything happens to you and I'm not there, tap the number of whichever floor you're on with the buckle. It's got a pulsing charm tied to me. I know you can protect yourself, I just want to know you're safe."

Ernie turned to leave and she pulled him back and kissed him, hard, and gasped for a breath before the crowd shoved them out the door.


	37. The Battle of the Great Hall

Hello all! Class was cancelled for today- nearly everyone is sick, including me. This chapter is the continuation of Valentine's Day and the battle of the great hall- but it backtracks a bit to the night before, as Neville contemplates a very special person . . . just not Hannah! After this we have Aberforth, Katie, and Dean!

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37

Neville

Worry was making him sick to his stomach, and Neville, though often queasy, was not the type to give in to anxiety anymore. It was as though having Hannah at his side made him a new man- confident, courageous, and quick to deliberate- quite the opposite of the bumbling boy he remembered from just three years before. Ginny, upon seeing him sweep Hannah off her feet upon her return from the holidays and dip her to kiss her, had remarked that he'd come a long way from the boy who'd stepped on her toes at the Yule Ball with a wide grin. Neville had to agree. Sometime between standing up for Harry in the Department of Mysteries and taking his leadership role in the DA, he'd grown a foot and a half internally, catching up to his ever-rising stature. Sure, he'd made mistakes along the way, but all in all he was happy with how he'd handled the situations they'd been in. His team was strong, mentally and magically, and they worked fluidly to save one another from tricky situations. What was bothering him now was something that shouldn't even be a factor: their physical health. It was common for a bout of flu and colds to run rampant in the castle during March and April, but it seemed that this year, with the extra stress, sick-season, as Harry had called it, came early: students had been sniffling and coughing in the halls, and Neville had watched in frustration as it made them targets for the Slytherins who had turned to real torture in the last few months. As long as McGonagall and other teachers were not present, the older Slytherins had free-reign to do whatever they wanted, and Ernie's healing classes were full with even third and fourth years who wanted cold remedies, healing spells, and burn creams. The entire student body seemed to be breathing from their mouths, and Neville was growing worried that maybe this magical malady would follow them into battle, screwing up their concentration and slowing their reaction times. So far, they'd had a few skirmishes since hols, but nothing serious. There had been six dungeons raids and a series of pranks on Alecto or Amycus that had gone wrong, but for the most part, the DA was now fighting their own digestive systems.

He had told himself not to fret, that apart from handing out cough syrups and keeping hot tea available in the Room, there was nothing they could do. Warming charms were standard on pants and jumpers. Neville had done his part by insisting that in the wake of Valentine's day and the events planned for it, the younger students take a one week hiatus on combat training, but it wasn't because he didn't think they needed it: he just wanted to put a hold on sick students passing out during simulations.

He sat in his favorite squashy armchair, the one he and Ernie dueled over, and rubbed his temples as his headache began to pass. Tomorrow would be either a disaster or a delight, and Neville was hoping that in between setting off the cupids, handing out patrol schedules, and breaking up the many couples who were sure to use the Room for more intimate dates, he'd be able to spend some time with Hannah. He'd ordered a necklace for her with funds from Gran, who'd mentioned in her last letter that he'd yet to dip into his Gringotts' inheritance from his parents, which he had been able to access the day he came of age. Neville had pulled out over two hundred galleons and had ordered a bottle of Rosmerta's best mead and a delicate dragons-eye pendant on a silver chain. The polished scale was from a Norweigan Ridgeback, and matched Hannah's eyes almost perfectly. Winky had offered to cook a special meal for the two and Ginny had offered her private quarters when she overheard his plans from the elves, who were excited to be making duck for the first time in what they assured Neville was close to a hundred years. He had entered Ginny's quarters tonight to thank her, only to find her crying for the second time in a week. It was very un-Ginny-like behavior, and though she refused to talk about it, Neville could plainly see her frustration and pain from watching the couples in the DA who were growing closer by the day. His pleas for her to talk to someone, anyone- fell on deaf ears.

A lovesick partner in crime was the last thing he needed, but it was more his worry for one of his best friends that was making him squirm. What was a guy like him supposed to say to someone when nothing he could ever say would make her feel better? Neville knew that nothing short of Voldemort dead and Harry safe in her arms was going to do much for Ginny at this point, but it wouldn't hurt her to talk about her worries to the other girls. Hannah had been trying for weeks to get her to open up, but Ginny was her own island, determined to not burden anyone else with her grief. She also refused to talk about her capture over Christmas, though Neville gathered she was physically healed by now, if not emotionally sound. He'd seen a few claw marks once when Ginny was pulling off a jumper during training, and the sight had been more terrifying than anything he'd seen yet this year. Just what had happened to his friend when she was taken?

Neville retired to Gryffindor tower, hoping that tomorrow would be better. His sleep was restless, filled with nightmares where Hannah was captured instead of Ginny, and she screamed as Greyback clawed at her shirt, pulling herself into a ball in a corner of a mysterious room. He was up at six beside Seamus, who was still recovering from his last beating, and the two avoided one another's eyes as they tried to forget the distressed cries during the night. He made his way to the Room, feeling significantly better as he thought of the night to come, and his plans for Hannah. The cupids went off without a hitch, filling the hallways with raucous song and laughter, and his classes breezed by with compliment after compliment. Even Ginny seemed buoyed up by the sight of Crabbe and Goyle's failed attempts to shake off layers and layers of confetti that stuck to them, giving them the look of demented clowns.

Evening was even better. Hannah had gushed over the flowers he handed to her from the greenhouse, and they'd gone ice-skating, laughing when Neville fell for the fourth time and collided into a group of first-year girls. He got a nasty cut on his cheek from an ice-skate, but Hannah healed it in a trice and they ventured indoors to snuggle up on the couches. The Room was not surprisingly filled with snogging couples, many of whom were recently joined. The sixth years were playing exploding snap in the strategy room, and the kitchen was softly lit. Hannah had been disappointed when Neville tugged her upstairs instead of eating in one of the rather handy booths in the kitchen, until she entered Ginny's room and gasped, seeing the tiny circular table and the candles he'd prepared.

"Oh Nev, this is wonderful!" she gushed, and he pulled out her chair with a grin and uncovered the duck and asparagus.

Winky entered and poured them each a generous measure of the mead, and Neville took a sip and felt his whole body warm.

"I didn't know you had something like this planned," she worried out loud. "I only got you something little, I didn't think we could get time for anything else," but Neville shushed her and took her hand.

"I think what we have is special enough to deserve something nice. I don't know how I would have gotten through the last term without you here, Hannah," he said gently, and she reached across the table to kiss him.

"MMM, the duck is delicious! It's so tender," she commented. Neville chuckled- he was having some difficulty getting the slick meat to stay on his fork. The food was flavorful and soon, they relaxed into an easy conversation.

"We don't get time to do this kind of thing often," he remarked, squeezing her hand lightly. Hannah shook her head.

"I think it makes it even more special though. Would you like your gift?" she asked, pulling out a small box wrapped in green and gold paper.

"Sorry, Nev, I could only find Christmas colored wrapping, and I couldn't remember the ink spells we worked on last year," she added, but Neville handled the package with reverence.

"No one's ever gotten me a present, except Gran and family. Hermione made me a hat each year, but you know what her hats look like," he explained, and Hannah giggled. "They kept my head warm, but it mostly got me lots of ribbing from the guys."

"Did you like Hermione back in fourth year?" Hannah asked softly, and Neville nodded. "I asked her to the Yule Ball, but she already had a date with Krum. I asked Ginny second, because she wouldn't be able to go and Hermione said it would be nice to take her, but then Harry would have taken her if I hadn't, and I felt awful. She was so nice about it, but I knew she was disappointed. And I stepped on her feet all night," he admitted, covering his eyes in mock shame. Hannah snuggled up against him as his fingers deftly uncovered the box under the wrapping.

"You've got one to open too, love," he said, pointing to the slender package lying on the table by her glass. Hannah smiled and pulled it closer to her.

"I figured as much. I just want to watch you open yours," she said, kissing him. She nestled her head into the crook of his neck, peppering his skin with little kisses, and Neville felt his face flush just barely. She had always been able to tell how to get him flustered, and she seemed to enjoy doing so.

He lifted the top off the box and pulled away the paper to reveal eight small vials, each stoppered with a silver cork and glowing with what could only be- were they really?- silvery, liquid memories.

"I wrote some letters to Kingsley and Remus, and they talked to whatever friends they could find who'd known your Mum and Dad- they sent me any good memories they had, and Susan helped me find a spell that copied them so I could send the originals back. You've got eight hours of your parents- five are of them together, but Remus gave one of your Dad from his wedding day, waiting in the Weasley's house- you can see Molly trying to get Bill to comb Percy's hair in the background! I guess Frank and Arthur were close, and Arthur was his best man. There's another with your Mum and Gran, and they're having some ladies over for a baby shower right before you were born- that' this one here, see the labels? And then the last one is from when they were in school, and I think Remus said it was his first year- your Mum is one of the prefects and she was helping him learn a hover charm. Remus said he had the biggest crush on your Mum in first year," Hannah giggled, pulling out the vial from the others.

"I know you don't have a pensive, but McGongall says you can use hers, and she says you just let her know when you want to use it," Hannah said quietly, inspecting Neville's face as he fingered the vials. Each was labeled in Hannah's tiny script, with a date, the name of the donator, and a subject line. Neville's eyes grew wide: there was a memory from McGongall of an Order meeting where Frank and Alice had introduced baby Neville! He'd been to an Order meeting before his first birthday!

"Nev, are you ok?" Hannah asked softly, looking worried from his silence. Neville was speechless. No one had ever given him a better gift. It was the single most meaningful thing she could ever have given him: the gift of his parents, or as close as he could get to knowing them.

"Thank you," he whispered, feeling the chill of smooth glass under his fingers. Inside these tiny flasks were more happiness than he could fathom. Finally, to know what his mother's smile looked like, to hear his father speak . . . Neville made up his mind in seconds before he even knew what he was doing.

The next twenty minutes were a blur. Neville crushed her to him, kissing her fervently, his lips slanting over hers with an urgency he'd never felt. Hannah moaned when he plucked her up from her chair and carried her over to Ginny's bed, and she scratched at his back as he lay her down and covered her, kissing down her neck. His shirt went missing within seconds, thrown across the room, and he didn't even pause to send a locking spell or set an imperturbable; all thoughts other than showing her exactly what her present meant to him were gone. She was soft and wonderful under him, her hands trailing down his back and over his arms, and he slipped his fingers under her shirt, tracing lines over her belly. More moans fell from her lips, enticing him on, and Neville licked and sucked at her tiny perfect ears, pulling back to see her eyes shine.

"You are beautiful, Hannah. The most beautiful person I've ever known," he whispered, and she smiled shyly and pulled his head back down to her own. Her fingers traced over his chest, then down his belly, and Neville sucked in his breath, holding his abs tight. She giggled into their kiss.

"Honestly, Neville, if I wanted a muscle man I'd be dating one. _Relax_," and he chuckled and released his breath. Her tongue caressed his, boiling his blood, and he felt her breathing quicken as his hand reached the underside of her bra and his fingers fiddled with the lace. They hadn't gotten past touching over her jumper. His eyes came up, looking into hers, and he read acceptance: tentatively, he edged his hand under her, and somehow, the clasp came loose. His fingers explored over soft skin, and he shuddered with her when he touched a hardening tip. Hannah bit her lip and looked up at him, her eyes fluttering closed, and he gently cupped her breast and ran his thumb back and forth. His lips dipped low to meet hers again, and he cupped her neck with his other hand, kissing his way down her cheek. He pressed hot, wet kisses to her neck, feeling her breathing increase, and he heard her laugh when he murmured "Happy Valentine's Day, eh?" Neville felt like he'd just run a mile; his hand moved to her other breast, gentle but firm, and his eyes widened when she sighed and her own hands went lower. She grasped his bum, pulling him hard against her, and he tugged her shirt up. Lifting her up carefully, he peeled it over her head, and his fingers slid her bra straps down her arms. He kissed her neck, pushing her back into the bed, and ran his hands over her breasts, pulling her bra off and gulping when he felt her squirm under him. Hannah moaned when cold air hit her chest and Neville kissed lower, his hands now running over her belly, and he opened one eye to see the rosy bud below his face. She was gorgeous- her skin flushed, her eyes dark and her lashes fluttering open to see why he'd stopped.

"It's ok," she whispered, tugging his hands lower, and he dropped down to lick and kiss each nipple, drawing a fantastic moan from Hannah. He pulled her hair away from her chest, playing with the buds and caressing under each, and Hannah hummed and kissed his neck warmly. Neville froze as he felt her hands running along his pants; she hesitated for a moment and then her fingers tugged on his button, and Neville groaned, pressing into her and kissing her everywhere. Hannah was wiggling unbearably, and the feeling of her skin against his was too good. Neville was sure she could feel him hardening against her, but somehow, he wasn't embarrassed. Hannah didn't seem to mind. She tugged down his zipper and reached in, her hand stroking over him, and Neville cried out in surprise. Merlin, she was going to stupefy him. He kissed her belly, afraid to do anything else, and she ran her hand down his length again, making him shudder.

"Godric, Hannah, don't do that too hard- I'll make a mess and you'll never want to kiss me again," he groaned, and she chuckled so low he barely heard it. "What if I want you to?" she teased, and he moaned again when her hand became more persistent. So she wanted to play, huh? He could do that too.

Neville held her close and flipped her over, and chuckled as she let out a shriek. His hands slid up her thighs and under her shirt and within seconds, she was moaning again. He gently rubbed against her, pulling her close to his hips with his other hand and grinding up against her. Hannah's eyes closed and she slumped against him like limp noodles, breathing heavy.

"Neville, is the door locked?" she whispered, and he shrugged. She pulled herself off him and grabbed her wand from the foot of the bed, and he sat back and watched her set an imperturbable and then a second spell.

"What was that?" he asked as she settled on top of him again and began kissing him.

"Silencing spell," she murmured, and Neville felt his heart stop. What was going to happen?

"Hannah, what are . . . I mean, are you . . . are we . . . what do you want?" he stammered, feeling for a second like the boy she'd met in first year.

"I want to be close to you," she said, caressing his chest.

"Whaa . . . what do you mean," he said, and Hannah stopped kissing him.

"Hannah?" he asked, confused by her silent, frozen stance.

"Listen," she whispered. "Something's happened. They're yelling," she said, and Neville heard shouts from downstairs. Suddenly there was thumping and yelling from the other side of the door, and he had to jump up to pull a sheet over Hannah when the door was blown off it's hinges.

"NEVILLE GET DOWN HERE, WE'RE FIGHTING!" Ginny screamed, shielding her eyes and running down. Hannah scrambled behind him, dressing, and Neville grabbed his shirt off the floor and his wand and ran into the hallway., banging on closed doors.

"GET UP! BATTLE FORMATIONS, NOW!" he yelled, and a tousled Michael Corner came out, followed by a sheepish Demelza, who was pulling on a jumper.

"THEY'VE GOT QUENTIN AND ROMILDA HOSTAGE, EVERYONE TO THE GREAT HALL!" Ginny screamed, running down before Mike and Demelza. Neville slid down the staircase, beating her down, and Hannah slid down behind him. He screamed for order in the Room, which was loaded down by a third of the DA, all of them panicking, and Hannah disappeared into the infirmary to stock up.

"I WANT THREE GROUPS OF FIGHTERS, ONE TO KEEP SNAPE BUSY ON THE THIRD FLOOR, AND TWO MORE TO TAKE OUT THE CARROWS IN THE GREAT HALL! NO MORE THAN FIFTEEN IN EACH, AND I NEED TWO HEALERS AND A GUARD TO GET THE HOSTAGES BACK TO THIS ROOM WITH ME! MOVE, PEOPLE!" he screamed, and he grabbed a bunch of fifth years and began shoving masks and decoy detonators into their hands.

"SEAMUS, TAKE LAV AND THE PATILS DOWN TO THE DUNGEON WITH GINNY, PIN FILCH DOWN BEFORE HE CAN GET THE WHIPS!" he yelled, but Ginny cut him off.

"I'm going alone, I've got some potions to try out on them- Plus, look at the map, he's still up cleaning the Astronomy tower art!" she argued, and Neville ran to the strategy room and unlocked it, pulling her behind him.

"Hannah, get over here!" he called, and she ran over. "Go with Ernie and Susan, get Quentin and Romilda back up here if you can- I don't know what kind of state they're in- take a few guards, get Mike to carry if need be," he commanded, looking at the fear growing in her eyes. Hannah was an excellent healer, but she got scared when she dueled and often froze.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart, but I need you to go," he said, kissing her softly and turning to Ginny. "I'm going with you, get out the cloak, we'll disillusion me and you can run down with me- did you call Dobby yet?"

Ginny shook her head. "I can't get a hold of him, he's not answering, neither is Winky or any of the others," she said, and Neville swore.

"Can you contact Astoria and see if she can cause a diversion in the Slytherin common room? The last thing we need is Pansy and her crowd getting in the way." Ginny nodded and pulled out her coin, sending a message. The coin glowed hot and then suddenly a message came from Luna:

BELLATRIX COMING TO CASTLE. GET THEM OUT NOW.

Neville saw the coin and Ginny's fearful eyes, and swore loudly again.

"OK EVERYONE, THERE ARE REINFORCEMENTS COMING FROM THE D.E.'S! CHANGE OF PLANS- MIKE, GRAB THE RAVENCLAWS, ERNIE, GET THE PUFFS! I WANT ANYONE IN THE COMMON ROOMS DOWN BY THE ENTRANCE- SHE IS NOT GETTING IN! THIRD YEARS OUT, FOURTH YEARS CAN FIGHT TODAY! STICK TOGETHER AND COVER ONE ANOTHER!" He yelled, and Mike and Ernie sped off. Terry and half of Ravenclaw house crammed into the Room from the bathroom portals within minutes and formed three teams, each ready to cover different entrances. The Hufflepuffs were smaller in number, as some were skating outside still, but they grabbed boxes of purple stun-pellets, courtesy of the Weasley twins, and set up positions outside the doors to the Great Hall. Neville took one last look at Hannah, who was bent over a map of the castle with Ernie and Susan, and the three left to get back the hostages at all costs. Ginny finished dividing the Gryffindors into two groups to cover each entrance into the Great Hall and then she turned to Neville and tapped his head.

"Nice one, Ginny," Michael said appreciatively, and Ginny rolled her eyes and donned the cloak. Neville examined his invisible fingers- he could barely see their outline when he wiggled them.

"Wow," he gasped, and Ginny dragged him to the door.

"I've been practicing," she informed him, and the two began their run down to the dungeons.

Five minutes later, bursts of spellwork and the sound of screams and cursing had filled the castle halls above them, and Ginny had hogtied a stunned Filch to his own office chair. Neville was busy coating each whip handle with the potion stored in the queer skull-shaped vial that Ginny had given him. Ginny swept from manacle to manacle, dipping each in the bowl she'd conjured and filled with the potion from the snake vial. The first was to create thoughts of self-doubt and guilt in the mind of any individual who touched the handle of the whips; the second would allow the manacles to be broken by uttering a password if any student were chained to the wall by them. Ginny kept tapping the manacles with her wand and each glowed green before becoming normal once more.

"Done?" Neville asked, finishing the last whip. Ginny nodded and they started up the stairs, only to run headfirst into Pansy Parkinson and three other Slytherins.

"Fancy a date, Longbottom? I can kick your fat ass into shape," she sneered, and suddenly spells were flying. Ginny cried out as a burning hex scorched her arms, and Neville sent a stunning spell at the girl who'd cursed her, knocking her back into the stone wall. Ginny was not handling the burn well- she'd gone into a furious overdrive, and within ten seconds Pansy was out cold with purple pustules covering her face, and the other two attackers were stunned, bound, and covered in bat-bogeys.

"Let me see that," Neville ordered, and Ginny swallowed a moan of pain as he spread burn cream from his pocket healer kit on the burn.

"C'mon, we're wasting time," she argued, and Neville followed her up the stairs. They stunned and bound two more Slytherins before making it to the Great Hall, where chaos reigned. Bellatrix and six other cloaked Death Eaters were holding Ernie, Hannah, and Susan hostage beside a thoroughly beaten Romilda and Quentin, and the Carrows were fighting six each, while half of Gryffindor and Ravenclaw towers dueled the Death Eaters. Snape was nowhere to be seen, Neville thought with grim satisfaction, and none of the other teachers were present to complicate matters. Ginny threw herself into battle with Bellatrix with a snarl that echoed over the battle, and Neville picked off one of the Death Eaters with a nasty bludgeoning hex that sent him fifteen feet backwards into a table. Hannah looked hurt, sobbing and wandless, and he transfigured a chair to sweep her up and float her over to safety as he dueled two more of her captors. Michael Corner jumped into the fight from nowhere, sending jinxes at the tallest Death Eater, who was holding Susan by her ponytail, shaking her as he dueled a frantic Parvati Patil, who was sending angry stunners at every inch of his body. Padma and Tony were holding off two more Death Eaters by the entrance to the Great Hall, and Neville could hear cursing and screams coming from the front doors to the grounds.

Mike and Terry took out another Death Eater and Neville ran forward, blasting Bella away from him as he grabbed Susan and Ernie and hauled them under a table.

"CRAWL DOWN THE ROW, I'LL GET THE OTHERS!" He screamed, and Susan and Ernie began to run behind the safety of the long benches, protected by their fellows as they made it to the entrance. Hannah screamed from behind him as a Death Eater grabbed her, and Neville pivoted in a second and stunned him. She grabbed his wand and bound the man, then took out another who sent quick reductos at Ernie and Susan.

"GET THE WOUNDED OUT! I WANT YOU TO TAKE THEM BACK!" he screamed to them, and Hannah began levitating hurt students out of the way, covered by Susan, who'd grabbed a wand as well. Ernie ran into an approaching Death Eater and knocked him over, and Neville laughed before turning back to battling Bella. Suddenly Ginny screamed in pain, and he realized that two were on her, and Bellatrix was crucioing her. Hot rage filled him and he sent a flurry of the most dangerous spells he knew at her, and Bellatrix seemed caught off guard- her laugh fell, drowned out by surprise, as he advanced, and she was forced to conjure a shield when he sent a blood-boiling hex at her that nearly hit. She snarled back and sent icy darts at him, and Neville summoned a bench to take the hit; Bella shot flames at him that circled around him, roaring in his ears, and he ducked a burst that reminded him of dragon fire and grabbed Ginny's hand, pulling her up. She slumped against him, breathing hard, and he yelled for her to concentrate.

"THE DURMSTRANG, GINNY, C'MON!" he pleaded, and she stirred and held up her hand and her wand. After a split second, the silvery shield encased them, and Neville wiped his forehead with his sleeve and smiled hard at the sound of Bellatrix's angry yell when her own cutting hex rebounded off to hit her. The hall was emptying as students forced the few remaining Death Eaters back out the door, and Neville heard the giant lock grind into place as they sealed themselves into safety. There were only the Carrows and a handful of Bella's cronies now, and the Carrows had been stunned and bound and carried off to stay with Filch. Neville shot stunners at the surrounding crowd and spoke encouragingly to Ginny, who was barely staying on her feet.

"Come on, Gin, just a few more minutes," he urged, watching as fifteen of his fighters entered, taking out some of his attackers. Bella was dueling five, sending nasty curses at the sixth years who were trying to kick her ass for hurting Quentin and Romilda, and Mike and Terry returned, battling her alongside Neville. The shield around him broke, and Ginny collapsed. Mike roared as Bella's spell hit her and Ginny screamed again, and Neville screamed in fury and sent Bella flying into a table.

"GET GIN OUT!" he screamed, sending sectumsempra at Bella. A gash split her wand arm open and she howled in pain, and Neville grabbed Ginny and ran, yelling for his fighters to retreat.

"I DON'T CARE, MIKE, GET BACK! SNAPE'S GOT TO GET HERE SOME TIME!" and then he was running, tapping Ginny to make her feather-light, and Terry had a first year he'd found under one of the tables slung over his shoulder.

"She's lost a bunch of blood, mate, get her back quick!" Terry yelled, and Mike grabbed another body and levitated a second, running with them. Tony and Lavender met them at the stairs and pulled Neville up, and his legs gave out under him. Bella cackled behind him and he rolled over- pain shot through him- she'd severed his calf muscles all the way through, and she was sending cutting hexes at his chest- and suddenly, realization hit him- HANNAH'S MOTHER- and he sent a slashing sectumsempra at her once more.

"YOU DIRTY BITCH! YOU FUCKING WITCH, LEAVE US ALONE!" he yelled, and Terry had pulled Ginny up from the floor and was running with her over his back. Lavender was trying to heal his calves. Neville pushed himself up, watching Bellatrix scream as she tried to heal the deep, seeping wound over her hips, and Neville threw another at her, lashing into her chest. She shrieked, and then Lavender tugged him away, and he looked up to see Snape, dark and deadly, advancing on them behind Bella. Lavender shot some spells into the air and a thick, golden liquid spurted from her wand and flew to cover the opening of the door before them. She pulled Neville up and suddenly Hannah was there, carrying him with her, and the girls were running behind Terry and Michael, panting deep.

"JINX HIM! WE HAVE TO HURRY!" Lavender cried, and Hannah sent a spell at Neville's feet and suddenly, he felt his entire body go flat, as though he had no weight at all; the girls were running, and Hannah shrieked and went down as a spell hit her.

"GET HIM OUT!" She screamed to Lavender, and Neville looked back to see Snape sending spells at them, and he threw back some stunners and pulled Hannah back up.

"JUST RUN, I'LL HOLD HIM," He yelled, wobbling on his broken, lacerated legs, and then Mike was back, shooting spells with him, and Lavender was setting up a second golden shield. Snape roared as his spells hit the shiny wall, absorbed into the liquid, and began twirling and looping his wand violently, trying to break the second shield, and Neville was thrown over Mike's shoulder as they began to run once more. In seconds, they had made it to the Ravenclaw common room, and Neville yelled for all of them to take cover in the Room. The students rushed to the bathrooms, coins in hand, and Neville felt the squeezing sensation as he was pressed between fifteen different people, all of them in a single stall. They fell out into the Room of Requirement, panting and bloodied, and Hannah dragged him into the infirmary.

She ripped off his shirt and healed three deep cuts over his chest, and Ernie rushed past, his hands full of vials and bottles. Ginny was lying unconscious on a bed beside him, covered in gashes that Susan was quickly sealing, and Neville gasped as he looked across the room to see the stretch of beds next to them. There were easily forty hurt people, in various states of undress and pain, many of whom cried as friends applied burn cream or sealed cuts up. Tiny Sylvia was running from bed to bed, handing out glasses of water and pain potions, and the Patils were levitating in three more injured students, one of whom was vomiting blood. Ernie took charge, and the room provided more white beds. A young girl screamed from behind him as her friend went limp and fell to the floor, and Seamus, heavily bandaged, scooped her up onto his own bed and began to aim his wand at her cuts. Neville gagged at the sight of a young boy crying as his skin regrew over his entire left leg; his pants had been cut away and a series of friends were dabbing orange burn cream on his angry red flesh.

Hannah had moved on to his severed leg muscles, and she was sobbing, trying to get the muscles to refuse. The bone was broken clean through, jutting out stark white against the red blood, and Neville felt dizziness overcome him as she finally got the bone to set and pain ripped through his legs, fresh and horrible. Ernie was yelling for more antiseptic potion at a third year trainee, who was bustling between beds and listing ailments on a magical chalkboard at the end of each bed: yellow chalk for urgent, and blue for minor. More beds appeared as Mike and Terry brought in the last two victims, who were covered in hex marks but otherwise unscathed, and they joined Tony and Lavender in healing minor cuts and bruises. Demelza appeared, shaking Hannah, who was sobbing harder as she finally got Neville's muscles to reconnect, and she spread a thick, tingling paste over his calves that soothed the pain down to a manageable scale. Demelza pulled her away to see to a heavily bleeding fifth year and Audrey passed by with a box of nosebleed nougat.

"Hannah, pull yourself together- we need your wand," Demelza was telling her, and Neville snapped inside.

"LAY OFF, DEMELZA! She just found out who killed her Mum!" he yelled, and Demelza burst into tears. Neville took a deep breath and apologized, trying to get up out of the bed, and fell onto the floor as his legs collapsed below him. The cuts reopened, and fresh blood pooled onto the floor below. Hannah tapped and swished her wand over his calves and they resealed, and then she ran back to the fifth year who was dripping onto the floor as well.

"Demelza, I'm sorry- I'm just-" he tried to offer, but she shook her head and wiped her eyes, turning to the next patient. Hannah had disappeared into the barrage of patients, her hair swinging in front of her, caked with blood from her own wounds, and Neville pulled out his wand and ran it over his legs, conjuring a sturdy brace for each and wrapping them in bandages. A second flick and his cot was a wheelchair, and he hurried to roll himself out of the way and into the main room.

In the common area, the majority of the students in the DA were running about, checking to see who was hurt and who was missing. Justin, Colin and Ingrid were tapping a gigantic board with their wands as each individual checked in, and Neville felt a surge of pride to see his team regaining order on their own. The list of missing students was only five long: out of five hundred eighteen, there were sixty Slytherins known to be in their common room, another two hundred twelve Eagles, Gryffindors, and Puffs in their own common rooms, alert for any attacks as the castle settled back into order, and the teachers could be seen patrolling on the maps. Flitwick was guarding his own common room and McGonagall could be seen arguing with Snape in his office. None of the Death Eaters were still in the castle, Neville saw with relief.

"JUSTIN! Report!" he yelled, and Justin ran over and conjured the results onto a paper.

"We have forty-six wounded being treated and five missing, Neville. The five are all Puffs and are assumed to be outside or hiding, but I sent out a search party to find them ten minutes ago. Quentin, Romilda, and the others are all stable or being healed, and Ernie reported that only Ginny sustained life-threatening wounds," he finished, and Neville frowned.

"What do you mean, life-threatening?" he demanded.

"She was hit with multiple cutting hexes to her chest and back, and they've healed them, but she lost a lot of blood. Her system also underwent the crucio several times, and it's stressed her body and her brain function. She's stable but will be sore for a few days," Ernie assured from beside him.

"What happened to Quentin and Romilda?" he asked. Ernie scratched his forehead.

"Susan's handled them, but Quentin got knocked unconscious and she can't get him to come back. He might just need some time. Romilda was burned and cut up, and she sustained several Crucios as well. She says that Quentin was hit six times by Bella's Crucio before the fight started. Romilda's pretty wrecked right now," he admitted, and Neville thanked him and watched Ernie hurry back into the infirmary. His entire back was covered in splatters of blood. Neville looked down at his shirt to see the crimson stains criss-crossing it. Godric, he hated war.

Neville looked around at the crowd of crying, distressed students. He needed something to calm the storm. Motioning Ingrid over, he grabbed a quill and his wand and made out a guarantor note, tapping it with his wand to seal it.

"Go down to the Hog's Head and get as much butterbeer as you can. I need you to send this letter to my Gran; her wards won't let in a patronus anymore. Tell Abe to take it out of my account and bring the barrels back with a hover charm," he explained, and as Ingrid shot off to get the drinks, he conjured three patronuses and sent an update on what had transpired to Kingsley, Arthur, and Remus.

Neville sat back in his chair and sent sparks into the air. A boom sounded and everyone turned to look at him.

"I'm proud of you all, and I'm sorry that tonight turned into such hell. We've got everyone back except for five missing students, and we're got a search party locating them now. Our wounded are being treated and no one has suffered lasting injuries. You all fought bravely tonight, and I want everyone to try to calm down and relax for the evening- no training, no talk of war. I've got Butterbeer coming to help us all unwind and I want any patients in the infirmary who can walk to be helped upstairs so they can rest for the night in the Room."

Susan came out to tell him that Ginny was awake, and Quentin was stable and resting. Neville wheeled into the infirmary and saw Hannah sitting on the floor, her hands over her face.

"It'll be ok, Hannah girl," he whispered, running his wand over her hair to siphon out the dried blood.

"Come upstairs and rest. Let Ernie finish up here, they're almost done," he urged, and Demelza smiled weakly at him as she walked past, handing out soap and hot bowls of water so students could clean themselves. Hannah looked up and nodded weakly, and Neville pulled her onto his chair and wheeled them out into the common area. Ingrid was back, flushed from the cold, and a group of students were gathered around a barrel, filling flagons for the patients. Neville summoned a glass from the kitchen and filled it to the brim, and pushed it into a reluctant Hannah's hands. She sipped deep and her body seemed to relax against him, and he wiped the froth off her mouth jokingly and kissed her before gulping down a bit himself. The butterbeer warmed him to the tips of his fingers, and he felt his entire body sag, his muscles unclenching. The pain in his calves and chest waned lower, and he wheeled them to the foot of the stairs. A few flicks of his wand, and the stairs had lengthened. He wheeled onto the bottom and tapped the staircase twice, and immediately, the stairs began to move them up to the dorms, like a Muggle escalator. Hannah sighed and leaned into him, and he wrapped his arms around her and wheeled them into the boy's shower room.

"If you want to get cleaned up, I'll fetch you a towel and some pajamas," he offered, and Hannah shook her head and raised her wand. A pair of towels soared in the open door and hung themselves on one of the shower stall doors, and Hannah caught the pajamas that followed them.

"You'll need help cleaning, with your legs, right?" she asked shyly, and Neville's eyes were round as hubcaps.

"You mean together?" he asked, his voice growing hoarse, and Hannah eyed him nervously and licked her lips.

"Only if it's ok," she offered, shrugging, and Neville's eyes betrayed him, looking her up and down. Hannah laughed immediately.

"Not that kind of shower, Nev. We're both hurting. We'll just soap up and I'll help you wash off the blood," she giggled, and Neville pulled himself up in the chair and tugged off his shirt. He summoned his own pajamas, which were folded on the bed up the stairs, and tested his legs, trying to stand. The braces held, though they were uncomfortable, and Hannah opened the door. The Room had met his needs once more: the shower was enlarged to three times it's normal size, and the door now hung lower, shielding them from anyone who might come into the room. Neville walked into the shower and imagined hooks for their pajamas and towels: two appeared, and a shelf melted into the wall, holding their pajamas away from the water. He tapped the floor with his wand, thinking of how he wanted a good soak to ease his muscles, and the floor sucked down in the middle into a rectangular bathtub, sunken into the floor. Hannah smiled and looked at him as she closed the door. They were alone.

He was used to being shirtless around her, and earlier, she'd been the same against him. He'd even felt her through her panties and she'd done the same. But suddenly, for the first time in months, Neville felt shy around his girlfriend. Would she like what she saw?

She bent down, undoing the braces on his legs and motioning to him to sit at the edge of the tub. The braces came off, caked with the last of the bleeding, and she peeled off the bandages to reveal freshly grown skin that was finally completely sealed. Hannah tapped her wand against his legs gently, strengthening the charm, and added another spell to ease the pain, numbing his nerves. Neville sighed, feeling quiet calm steal over him. He pulled his wand over from the wheelchair and tapped it, and it became solid as the walls beside them. He concentrated again, and a sink and mirror formed before them as the chair morphed, and slid next to the shelf.

"I thought you might like to see your hair when you brush it," he added, summoning his toothbrush and a hairbrush for them to use. Somehow his toothpaste came to them without the plastic covering, and Hannah giggled as he looked at the floating mess and then magicked it into a container.

"I'll deal with that later," he admitted, and then they brushed the grime of battle from their mouths, spitting into the sink to clear out the taste of blood and sweat. Once they were minty fresh again, Neville's confidence wavered once more. Hannah was sitting beside him by the tub, dangling her legs below her skirt into the water as it filled up, and she kept glancing at him from the corner of her eyes.

"Do you want to get in?" she asked quietly, and Neville nodded. First, he'd make it easier. He pulled off his socks and vanished the mess, then tapped the faucet. Purple bubbles filled the top, frothy and fragrant, and Hannah seemed to relax as he pulled off her socks, massaging her tired feet.

"Ooo, don't do that yet, I'm gross," she complained, pulling away, but Neville held fast and palmed her heels.

"I don't mind, love. I'm gross too," he admitted, showing her the stains from the blood on his shirt. He vanished her socks and his shirt, and threw her shoes onto the bottom of the shelf. His own he sprayed with some water in the sink to get the blood off them, and then set them to dry on hooks that appeared.

"Feeling any better?" he asked, looking at her as she dangled her feet in the now-filled tub. A full three inches of bubbles lay over the steamy water, but neither of them were making a move to get in. Neville bit his lip and looked at her. Now or never, he thought to himself, and in a single fluid motion, he shucked his pants and underwear off and dropped them on the floor. Hannah's breathing stopped, but she wasn't looking at him. Neville lowered himself next to her and eased into the water quickly, watching her eyes peeking at his torso.

"Oh, Nev, look at you," she said sadly, seeing again the deep cuts that were still shining on his chest. They had sealed perfectly, given her excellent healer skills, but the skin was an angry red. Hannah jumped up from the water and grabbed her wand, tapping his new scars, and they faded a bit, lightening as she continued. Neville felt her set a second healing charm on them and the pain reduced once more. Now, there were silvery lines crossing his pectorals, and he thanked her softly.

"Hannah, I can turn around if you want," he added, seeing her eyeing the water with trepidation. "You don't have to do this, I can go to another stall," he offered. His jaw dropped as she flashed him a fierce look and stood, pulling off her shirt and jumper and unclasping her bra. Her clothes hit the floor by his and Neville gawked at her skin, dried sweat and all, as she unzipped her skirt in the back. She hesitated only a second and Neville looked away, thinking she was embarrassed, but her hands met his face and brought it back to see her.

"I want you to see me," she whispered, kissing him lightly, and then her skirt was gone, and her knickers too. Neville reddened, his eyes stuck to the soft patch of light brown at the apex of her thighs, and Hannah stepped into the purple bubbles and sighed happily.

"Come here," he said gently, and then he gulped as she took his advice a bit more than he'd anticipated. Her hips bumped against his under the water and she curled up against his chest, laying her head on his shoulder. The ends of her hair were soaking down into the bubbles, and Neville conjured a wash cloth and set his wand on the ground beside them. He dipped it down and pulled one of her legs gently into his hands, and began washing her feet under the water.

"That's nice, Neville," she sighed, and she began to massage his back as he washed up her legs, scraping grime off her calves and knees. His hands shivered a bit as they washed the backs of her thighs, and he heard her sigh again as he rounded over the tops of them, brushing against the patch of curls.

"Is this ok?" he asked, and she nodded against him. Neville brought the wash cloth up to her belly, rubbing circles across her back, and she lifted her arms up so he could reach under them with a giggle. He gently cleaned under her fingernails, massaging her fingers and wrists, and kissed each palm before she stole the wash cloth.

"My turn," she teased, and she lifted up and sat on his legs. Neville groaned and she giggled again. "Hannah, you're making this difficult," he gritted out between his teeth as she washed his feet under the water. Her back was turned to him and he could see two tiny birthmarks on her pristine skin, just below her left shoulder.

"What's difficult?" she teased again, and he chuckled and began to massage her back. Hannah had worked her way up to his thighs, and she turned around, facing him. His breath lodged in his throat and refused to move. Her breasts were showing slightly above the bubbles, and if she moved up six inches, she'd be up against him. Hannah's eyes were dark turquoise, meeting his.

"You know what's difficult. We're both hurt and you don't want it to be . . . that kind of bath," he squirmed as she washed by his hips, just barely missing his most sensitive parts. Her hands ran over his belly, washing off the sweat and she pressed a kiss to his shoulder.

"Maybe I want it to be difficult, Nev," she admitted. "Maybe I like what we were doing before we got interrupted earlier," she said, and Neville gulped as her wash cloth traced over the scars and under his arms.

"Hey-that tickles!" he complained, and she sniggered and resumed washing his shoulders. The wash cloth ran down his arms, and Neville noticed that the bubbles were beginning to disappear. Hannah didn't seem to have noticed yet, but he could almost see through the layer of purple to the water . . . and bodies . . . underneath.

She tugged him into turning around, and he sighed, relaxing between her legs as she rubbed his back with the wash cloth. The water was still hot, and if she hadn't been so bloody gorgeous, he'd have been nearly sleeping, he was so relaxed. She finished washing him and Neville closed his eyes and dunked his head under, scrubbing his scalp and his face. He emerged and dunked a second time, feeling the sweat and the blood lifting off his face, and wiped the soap from his eyes.

"Much better," he told her. "Let me get your back, love," he offered. She turned around and he pulled her up between his legs as she'd done for him, until she was almost against him, and started washing her back once more. She sighed and sagged against him, her back propped against his legs, and Neville felt her hum when the wash cloth ran over the side of her breast as he washed her. He dropped the wash cloth and cupped his hands, pouring hot water over her shoulder. It trickled down her front and back, and Hannah let out a tiny moan that was no more than a breath.

"You know, I can make things difficult too," he teased, his voice lower than usual, and he let his fingers wander to her front to cup her breasts. Hannah leaned into his touch, and Neville rubbed her nipples and hugged her closer to him, kissing her neck. As if some invisible spring had been set off, Hannah arched her back, pressing into him, and her bum rested against his thighs. Neville kissed her shoulder, nibbled on her ear, still caressing her breasts with his hands, and she rubbed against him and moaned again, louder. Neville felt his heart speed up as she settled closer to him. Their bodies were fused together, warm and slippery under the water, and she was resting against his thighs, her back against his chest. Neville tentatively pinched one of the tips between his fingers, thinking back to all the things he'd ever heard Seamus Finnegan spout out during their nights in the boy's dorms for seven years, and Hannah let out a deep gasp and shuddered.

"Mmm, I think I like things being difficult," she admitted, and Neville kissed her throat, pulling her around to face him.

"I want to kiss you, love, come here," he said, and then he sputtered as she eased onto his lap, her lips capturing his. Her breasts pressed against his, and he ran his hands along her sides, groping her bum and trailing along her waist under the water. Hannah sighed into their kiss, her tongue insistent and silky, and Neville felt like he was going to burst if he didn't get far away from the bewitching witch on top of him. Hannah rubbed up against his lap, making him moan loudly, and Neville pushed her off him and jumped out of the water.

"I'm sorry, Hannah, I just can't- I dunno if I trust myself- Don't want to do anything you'll kill me for later- I just don't know if I can" he began stammering, and Hannah's eyes were wide as she looked him up and down, her cheeks reddening.

"Sorry, Nev, I just liked what you were doing," she said, her eyes drifting down as she blushed further.

"I guess we both got carried away," he added, wrapping a towel around his waist and sitting down beside her. Hannah nodded and dove under the water, surfacing to rub her scalp. Neville handed her some shampoo that had appeared on the shelf and she disappeared under the bubbles again three more times, washing her long locks and her face. When she had deemed herself clean, she climbed out of the tub, and Neville had to look away to keep from grabbing her and taking her back into it; his head was screaming at him for interrupting their kissing.

"Oh, for Godric's sake, we've just fought for our lives and you're worried about going too fast? Honestly, Neville, we've been dating for months," she said quietly, and Neville turned his head and looked at her in her towel, ringing water out of her hair. His brain went fuzzy.

"Maybe you shouldn't do that," he heard himself say, feeling like he was drowning in his own head.

"Do what?" she asked, confused.

"Dry your hair. I'm just going to get it wet again," he said, dropping his towel and pulling them both into the water. His arms went around her waist. He kissed her in the hollow of her throat, and it was an awfully long time before they got out of the tub.

******************************************************************

I've always imagined that Neville would be the type to take his time, and then say "screw it!" and just go for the things he wants. He and Hannah are going to make the most of their Valentine's Day, even if the world will be bleak and worrisome the next day. Poor Ginny- so much pain, so much to deal with- but I promise, she gets her just desserts later  And obviously, no, not with Michael. I stick to canon! See you all tomorrow. Please let me know what you think of the chapter!!!


	38. The Valentine's Day Massacre

38

Katie

It was sick, looking at the snow stained crimson. It would almost have been pretty if she hadn't known what the red really was. Alicia and Angelina had walked back to Muriel's house, and she was left alone to clean up as much as she could. Anyone who could be saved had already been saved. All that were left were the dead.

It had been a massacre of sorts. She'd never seen anything like it. Fred had come for the girls the minute he'd gotten word, and George had followed, looking at her with hurting eyes, and Katie felt her stomach plummet out.

"What happened?" she'd asked, and Fred had laughed hollowly, leading the girls from the safety of Aunt Muriel's. "It's more like what didn't happen," he admitted, touching one of the many wellington boots that had been scattered across the front porch since the Weasleys had moved in. "Portus," he spoke, tapping the boot, and they all reached down, feeling the tug behind their navels at the same time.

The tiny city was decimated. Three families that had Muggle-borns had been killed entirely, and four wizarding families had been dueled to extinction. The remaining Muggles, over four hundred people, had been savagely tortured and killed, their remains making her gag as she walked amongst the smoking village. An entire town, dead. No survivors. On Valentine's Day.

Multiple dark marks floated over the four wizarding homes, and the Muggle-born households were still smoking, bits of cinder and ashes remaining from the foundations. The Muggle police hadn't been alerted yet, and Remus was out with Kingsley, meeting with the Muggle Prime Minister to inform him of the tragedy and decide on a cover story. Perhaps a fire that spread, or a terrorist attack- some epidemic that swept through the town overnight, killing off any in it's wake- and in a night, the twisted faces and gouged-out wounds, the bloody stumps thawing the snow around them, the dark pools on the slushy cobblestone streets- would become memory, legitimate history, the forgotten horrors of mysteries past. Like the forgotten towns of the druid wizards and witches killed by the Arthurians, the streets would crumble, overgrown with weeds by the end of summer; the houses left standing would be taken over by mice and vines, deer walking into kitchens and living rooms in search of food; the books of the tiny school house would yellow, sitting useless on the shelves, and in thirty or forty years, once the relatives of the townspeople had moved on, a memorial would be built to ceremonialize the lies, to cement the cover-up. Some mayor nearby would commemorate the ghost town a historical site, speaking in monotone about the need for the people to 'remember what had happened to these unfortunate people,' his political jargon seeping out, yellow and ugly, as the bored crowd waited for him to move on to some more promising topic: drug use among the young people, or the introduction of the Euro, or the dangers of some Middle-Eastern country that most of the listeners didn't know even existed in their ignorance. It made her sick to think of the death of truth, the way they had to obliterate the past to keep Muggles from finding out the truth. Katie shrugged off George's comforting hand, walking to the pit they'd dug, dumping in another body. A fire would leave no remains, and that was what Remus was likely to suggest. The loved ones of the little boy she carried, his aunties and cousins, would never see his body, never have to cry over the dark bruises on his arms and the deep cut that nearly severed his body in half over his belly. He couldn't be more than eight.

She levitated the last victim into the pit, and George and Fred used a hover charm to cover the pit up with dirt, marking it with a stone so they could come back when the war was over and make a proper cemetery. For now, it was too risky: what if the Chief Death Eater decided he wanted more Inferi? George motioned her away from her contemplation of the cold, slushy dirt, and she followed him and Fred to the woods, disapparating back to the outskirts of Muriel's.

She trudged in behind them, knocking snow off her boots and washing her hands at the sink in the bright yellow bathroom. The happy color mocked her, and Mrs. Weasley bustled in, putting a mug of tea down beside her and offering her a towel to clean up with. Katie thanked her and washed her face, trying to scrub out the memories of the toddler girl with blonde hair she'd buried in the cold mud, next to her mother, who'd died trying to protect her, her body thrown over the young one.

"Is it true?" Molly asked Fred quietly, and George nodded, solemn.

"He's dead. We brought back his body, it's in Dad's workroom. Charlie's washing him down. I don't want her to see him like that," George said quietly, and Molly let out a muffled sob.

"Who's dead?" Katie asked quietly, adding "other than the whole bloody town," in her head. Arthur wiped a single tear off his cheek, sitting down beside them at the table.

"Ted Tonks," he said softly, and Katie felt her stomach clench. Tonks' face flew before her mind, pink hair and cheeks, her belly swollen in pregnancy, and then Andromeda's elegant nose and deep eyes flashed past.

"Do they know yet?" she asked heavily, and Arthur answered without asking "who".

"No. We didn't realize it was Ted at first. They . . . cut up his face, post-mortem. The cuts didn't bleed," he added. Katie sniffed back some tears and didn't ask what design may have been carved into her friend's father's cheeks. She didn't need to guess twice.

"Should I tell her?" she asked, and Molly looked at her, measuring her with her eyes.

"Arthur will tell Andromeda. She's at her own house, but she was supposed to come here tonight to work on the next shelter over at the Diggory's neighbors; we're trying to use it as a portkey destination, the husband worked for the portkey office and he can make ones to send Muggle-borns to Romania for Charlie to help," she explained. "You can tell Tonks, if you think you can handle it," she finished, and Katie looked at the twins, who were staring back at her. Her heart thudded and she pulled herself up, feeling a hundred years old.

"Where is she?" she asked, her voice flat. Tonks was going to be destroyed. She was close to her father, and had been anxiously tracking his safety for the last year of hiding.

"Upstairs, she's with Remus, he just got back," Arthur stated gruffly, downing the last of his tea. He looked to Molly, who nodded, and brought down a brandy bottle for him.

"I might need something a bit stronger before I get Andromeda," he said, and then he pulled George and Fred to his side, downing the shot of brandy and pouring another.

"Boys, you can't heal dead wounds- but I don't want those women to see any marks," he said quietly, and Fred pulled out his wand and walked back to the office, his boots tracking muddy water behind him. George cleared his throat and followed. The yellow hurt her eyes, blinding and sunny and horrible false.

Katie moved up the stairs, feeling her body move and wondering if her brain could wrap its mind around what had happened. She seemed stuck behind the yellow, her eyes grainy and dry, and her mind was filled with horrible images of the bodies she'd seen, surrounded now by sickening yellow sunshine. She picked her way up three steps, four more, contemplating how to tell someone their father is dead, is gone, will never come back . . . should she cry for Tonks? Should Katie hold her, let her punch her in anger, watch her wail? Should she walk away, let her grieve in peace? Or should she stand and tell her the news, and show no emotion at all, as she felt? How could she show anger she didn't feel, pain that didn't grip her? She was floating, apathetic, drowned in yellow clouds, and could find no emotions in her to rise above the surface and break the tide. Inside was nothing, and she was walking toward tragedy, towards pain of the sharpest kind, and she felt nothing but emptiness.

The door opened and Remus walked out, tears running down his face. Deep, hacking sobs could be heard coming from the room, and Katie took one look at his desperate face and hugged him to her.

"She knows?"

"She knows."


	39. In Like A Lion, Out Like A Lamb

39

Dean

He was cold again. Nothing new, but after months of not being able to feel his toes in the mornings, it was growing irritating. The home he was currently staying at belonged to Muggles who were scheduled to fly back from their winter home in the tropics in six days. He'd heard Harry telling Ron about Slughorn's way of staying clear of Death Eaters, and he was relieved when he'd found a site that proved more permanent about two months ago. It had been difficult to split with Justin and the Creeveys, but they were drawing attention to themselves with each new refugee- and Dean fancied living, thank-you-very-much. It was just frustrating being so goddamn cold every morning. He couldn't turn on the furnace, because then the muggles would know someone had been in from the bills- and warming charms failed to last through the night. He wiggled his toes and jumped into the bathroom, peeling off the sixteen layers, and let his wand fill the bathtub with steaming water before jumping in. He lay back, watching the water plume in the air in whirls of mist, and started his next morning ritual: sending warming charms at the whole damn house. From the open door he hit the living room and some of the kitchen, and he proceeded to warm the dining room and the bed he'd conjured in it. He didn't want to go upstairs. It was safer to stay where he could run out the back door if he needed to.

Dean flexed his muscles as they warmed and toweled off, dressing in his work clothes. It was strange to watch his hands lifting and carrying cement blocks when he'd never planned on letting them do more than hold a brush once he was out of Hogwarts; strange and disconcerting. He did what he had to do. His job was an easy task so long as the Muggles stayed in the front room and left him to his own devices. Dean was the landscaping shop's fastest worker: what they didn't know was he used his wand to move the cement and stone blocks to their respective piles for orders with a simple hover charm.

Donning his heavy coat, he locked the door and set an intruder jinx outside his home to detect magical visitors. A Muggle repelling charm was standard now for him too- he didn't need any nosy neighbors looking in the windows and seeing his things in the dining room. He had bought a set of paints with his second paycheck and his papers were spread over the huge dining room table. Ginny ran through them, dressed in some as a mermaid, in others as a horseback rider. Godric, he missed her. It was a pain that was sharper than the stabs of cold in the morning, and even though he knew she was Harry's, had really always been Harry's, the rejection was still fresh and raw.

Josef's Garden and Supply was only four blocks from the townhouse, and Dean was careful to backtrack once to make sure no one was following him. He grabbed a bagel from a café on his way in, tearing off hunks as he walked into work. Josef and his sons greeted him, their courtesy grunts and waves his only morning communication. The winter was their slowest season, though they had been selling loads of Christmas trees right before he'd gotten here. Now, there were stones from people digging the first spring ditches as March thawed the ground, and seedlings covered the greenhouse in the back where Josef's eldest, Ricky, was starting tomato plants and tulips for selling in pots in a month. Dean was hoping he'd get to see some of the daffodils before they were all bought up.

He pulled on work gloves, shucked his coat, and went out into the back storeroom, closing the door behind him. A lengthy list of orders for different customers- some about to make cobblestone driveways, others just wanting some replacement stone for the basement- trailed over the table, and Dean rolled his sleeves and set to work, putting a Muggle-Repelling Charm on the door and levitating varying types of stone and rocks into piles, setting tickets on each when finished. In half an hour, he sat back, exhausted. Magical lifting still taxed the body, strangely enough, and he'd done enough spellwork for the morning. Three-fourths of his orders for the day were portioned and packaged on lorries. With a wave he sent the finished lorries to the end, making a huge rolling noise as they moved to sit by the garage door, where orders could be picked up. Dean dropped his wand into the pants pocket he'd lengthened and protected with an unbreakable spell, and began sorting through the smaller stones, unlocking the door. If Josef came to check up on him, he needed to see him working normally.

By lunch time he was mostly done, but he hid the ticket of finished orders and went back to the room, munching on his turkey-on-rye and the apple he'd brought. It was a honeycrisp, his favorite, and the juice was ripe and sweet. Only six more days, and he'd have to find someplace new to live. He wanted dearly to keep this job, as it was easy and paid well, but he couldn't afford rent on it, and most of the other out-of-towners would be back by March 15. It was ridiculous, but he was going to be homeless within a few short days, and while Dean didn't mind conjuring a tent once it warmed, he didn't fancy going without a shower or toilet. He chuckled, thinking of what Seamus would say if he knew he'd gotten so spoiled. Thoughts of his friend were almost as painful as Ginny, and Dean focused instead on mixing more cement in the huge grinder behind him, filling hundreds of plastic molds with the thick goop. He pressed decorative tiles into the tops of fifteen for a special-order due tomorrow and picked up the heavy stacks, one by one, tediously filling the kiln that was warming in the back. Hundreds of these blocks needed to be baked, and he had to scoop and lift them with the flatboard, feeling the handle cut into his callouses, even with the gloves.

It was five more hours before Josef came in and complemented him on his "amazing workload" again, and Dean thanked him and grabbed this week's pay before heading out. It was nippy again, windy and frigid, and he groaned as more snow fell and he walked into his favorite pub. He was lonely, separate from all the villagers in his quest to be a mysterious but easily forgotten Muggle kid- just out of High School, he'd told anyone who asked, and he ignored them after that until they left him alone. It was depressing, but it was safe, and Dean had become a very safety-conscious individual since he'd been attacked four times thus far by Snatchers. He was hoping that a more permanent residency in this small town would be a blessing rather than a bane; memories of his visit with Ted Tonks to hear of any news on Valentine's day cut into him, and he swallowed back the bile. The town's demise had been a shock to his own village, but Dean knew from experience that the fire had not been Muggle. Ted Tonks was dead, his last connection to the wizarding world, and with Dirk Cresswell and the goblins he'd once camped with dispersed by a gang of snatchers, magic was becoming something it seemed he was alone in using. He hadn't seen a witch or wizard in the last month since Valentine's Day, and the lack of social interaction- while better for his safety- was starting to make him think he was going mad. Suppose all the others got killed off- who would he drink with? Who would buy his paintings of girls shooting doves out of their wands, of his little brother holding the giant bullfrog Dean had caught when they were kids? The bullfrog was twelve times the size of any natural one, since Dean, in trying to catch it, had accidentally hit it with an engorging charm, though he hadn't meant to. It had been his "official warning" back when he was twelve, but the sight of his brother, laughing and holding the house-cat-sized frog, had been worth it.

Dean walked into his townhouse, resetting the wards and settling down in front of his paints. Since the attack a month ago, his paintings had all be dark, \violent swatches of greens, browns, and blacks- with sickly red lines slashing across them. He couldn't seem to paint anything else.


	40. The Missing Moment of Shell Cottage

Well, we're up to 40 in chapters! I believe it's over 120,000 words, which makes me pretty happy. I want to write and teach once I'm done with college, though the latter will likely bring my paychecks, so this is basically practice for me. My boyfriend says I should quit writing in romance, but I think that following the development of the wartime couples, with all the joy they bring, is important- we all waited for seven books to see Ron and Hermione finally snog, and then she jipped us with a single, furious kiss in the middle of battle, but didn't show us anything of them as a couple! I dunno about you, but that's got to change- and I want to know how Harry and Ginny got from divided angst to happily married with three kids. I'm thinking they probably ran headlong into marriage, even if James didn't come until later- and I promise, I'll get into the first month or so following the battle before I find an adequate stopping point. Ginny needs some love!

Please review- is Neville in character? Does Dean's chapter make sense?

40

Fleur

It was a blur, but she had always been good at reacting to crisis. Fleur sprung into action, grabbing her wand off the table and running towards the sound of Bill yelling. A looping arch of her wand told her the wards were still in place- they weren't under attack- but there were figures outside, their hair and clothes whipped by the seaside wind. She ran closer, and Bill was carrying a goblin inside who was sporting slashes over his legs and face.

"GET OLLIVANDER INSIDE, THEY'RE COMING!" her husband yelled over the wind, and she levitated the broken man before shrieking when another blur apparated next to her. Dropping Ollivander, she set her wand on the newcomers, but Ron, white-faced and clearly scared within an in ch of his life, leveled his own wand at her and fired off a shield, rebounding her stunner.

"I'M RONALD WEASLEY AND THIS IS HERMIOEN GRANGER, AND GINNY TRIPPED ME EVERY TIME I TRIED TO GET A KISS ON THE CHEEK FROM YOU, AND I NEED TO GET HER INSIDE NOW!" He bellowed, racing with the girl bumping up and down in his arms, and Fleur grabbed Ollivander's floating form and rushed him inside. Ron had set an extremely thin Hermione down on the sofa, and he was muttering spells under his breath, trying to seal the scarlet line on her neck. Tears ran down the grime on his face, and Fleur settled Ollivander on the table, who had passed out, and pulled Ron away.

"STOP ZIS! You are making it worse," she cried, seeing more blood pour from the neck wound. She ran her wand over the angry line again and again, slowly sealing it, and pulled off the girl's sweater to expose ghastly rows of growing bruises.

"WHERE 'AVE YOU BEEN!? WHERE IZ 'ARRY?" she cried, running to get her medicine bag. A blonde girl she vaguely recognized from the wedding was running in, lifting Mr. Ollivander to carry him up the stairs, and Fleur sent a feather-weight charm at his body as she went. Ron was up and gone once more, out the door, and Bill was shouting from the front lawn for Harry to let go. Fleur concentrated hard, resetting the wards from inside the house to let no others through without Weasley blood, in case some others were to tag along, and then she sent a patronus to Molly.

"Harry, Ron, and Hermione safe- at Shell Cottage- do not come," she whispered to the glowing swan, who circled her once and flew out the window. Luna had disappeared up the stairs, but she could hear movement in the background as Ron paced, shaking, and she dropped to her feet by Hermione and began healing the bruises.

"Ron, you WEEL tell me what you were doing," she demanded, severing the girl's jeans and healing several more cuts and bruises. Ron shook his head, his lips firmly clamped shut, and dropped down beside her, taking Hermione's hair.

"I can't, Fleur, we were with Harry. Please, is she going to be ok?" he asked hoarsely, and Fleur turned to him with angry sparks flying from her wand.

"I CANNOT TELL EEF I DO NOT KNOW WHAT HAPPENED!" She yelled, and Bill walked in behind her, tired and angry, and folded his arms, looking at Ron. Ron looked from one to the other and tears began pouring down his cheeks.

"I can't tell you where we were, but she was held at knifepoint for awhile- and she was hit with the Cruciatus for a long time. I- I don't know how long," he admitted, and Fleur cursed and run up the stairs.

"BEEL! I need you up here," she yelled, and her husband took control, moving Ollivander and the goblin from the bathroom, where Luna had been washing their wounds.

"I'll get them to rights," he said quietly. "I would never ask you to do this normally, but use anything you've got to get him to talk," he spoke grimly, and Fleur nodded, closing her eyes. Within seconds, her skin shone, and she had turned on the Veela charm without a hitch. She sashayed down the stairs, planning to hit Ron with everything she had, but stopped at the bottom stair, held captive by the scene before her.

Ron was in deep, and no Veela charm was going to get him to spill the beans. He was cradling Hermione to him, and he'd folded a blanket to cover her. His wand ran over her hair and face, cleaning off the dirt and blood, and he was crying silent tears. She stirred as he moved to hold her on his lap, groaning lightly, and Ron was instantly frigid, intensely staring at her pale face.

"Mione, please, wake up- please be alright," he was pleading softly, broken sobs intermingling. Hermione was silent, her eyes closed, and Ron rubbed her back and began pulling her hair from her face. He tied it behind her head, fussing with the blanket, and sending what looked like warming spells over her. "I promise, as soon as you're up, I'll get a better pain potion. Love, please wake up," he begged, and he bent down and kissed her forehead, sniffling loudly.

"Please, I need you- I can't keep this up if you're not ok," he sobbed softly, and Fleur flattened herself against the wall, transfixed. The boy was becoming a man.

Hermione stirred, and a tiny whimper left her. Ron kneaded her shoulders, hugging her close, and whispered to her quietly. Fleur waited until he was no longer kissing her forehead and walked down, making her feet slap to warn him she was coming.

Ron did not move away from Hermione, and he looked up, hopeful.

"She's moving, but she won't wake up. Will she be . . . I mean, will it hurt her mind?" he asked, fearful, and Fleur sighed.

"We cannot tell until she iz awake, Ron. I am sorry. Keep talking to her," she urged, and Ron didn't even blush, returning instead to massaging Hermione's pale arms and tapping her cheek softly, speaking to her in low tones. Fleur walked outside, and she could see Harry, kneeling by a tiny body, which she could tell was dead even from here. It looked like a house elf. A young man was standing beside him, dark and solemn, and Fleur walked out and surveyed the scene. A tiny house elf, bat-like ears beginning to droop, lay dead, a single knife wound in his chest. Harry didn't look up.

"Wait with him, please. Let me know if you need anyzing," she offered, and the boy nodded his head, still watching Harry. Fleur walked back to the door. Soft sobs were coming from inside, and she feared the worst.

"Merlin, Mione, don't do that again," Ron was crying, and Hermione's dark eyes were open, her face horribly white. She was holding his hand, whispering back as he clutched her to him, and Ron sprung up and filled a glass with water in a single, fluid motion, carrying it back and helping her drink. He sent another warming charm at her and a second spell, which made Hermione sigh and relax against him. Ron's arms went around her, supporting her as she fell back against his chest, and he untied her shoes with fumbling fingers and slipped them off. His face was still covered in tear-tracks, and Fleur could see his shoulders shake from time to time. He bent low, kissing her nose, and Fleur smiled for the first time- so they were together, now- and words like "finally" and "took them long enough" ran through her mind. She walked into the kitchen, pulling down the strongest pain potion she had, and set it down by Ron, who nodded, before she went to get some fresh clothes for them both. Their own looked thoroughly used.

Bill came down the steps, sighing, and reported that Ollivander's legs were fixed and he was sleeping under a pain potion. Griphook, he informer her, was healed and resting in the guest bedroom as well, though he had been suspicious when Bill had offered him pain medicine, and had made him swear a wizard's oath it was not poison. Bill pulled her into a deep hug and ran his arms and along hers; It was going to be a long night.

"How's Hermione?" He asked, his brow furrowing with worry.

"She iz awake, and very hurt, I theenk, but she will heal. Ron iz with her. Harry and the other boy are outside, and I theenk the elf is dead," she said softly, and Bill nodded.

"It's Dobby. Bellatrix killed him. The boy is Dean, he's in their year. Luna's staying upstairs to watch the others," he replied. Fleur walked back downstairs. Ron and Hermione were arguing softly, with Hermione trying to get him to help Harry.

"I'm not leaving you like this," Ron grunted, his voice insistent, and Fleur smiled at him.

"I'm going to draw Hermione a bath and help her dress- you can go outside to help 'Arry," she said, and Hermione clutched him tighter and nodded, her eyes going wide for but a second when he pressed a parting kiss to her cheek. Fleur smiled once more, levitating the girl into the bathroom, and filled the tub with hot water. Hermione bent over slowly, peeling off her rancid socks, and Fleur closed her eyes and waved her wand. A tiny "oh!" escaped the startled girl as the rest of her clothes were banished.

"Just 'ope zat none of ze boys in your year know zat charm yet," she joked, and Hermione let out a weak laugh as she climbed into the bathtub. Fleur closed the curtain and heard the girl sigh once more.

"I need you to keep talking to me, 'Ermione, so zat I know you are conscious," she told the girl, handing a bottle of shampoo under the curtain. Hermione thanked her softly and water began sloshing about as the girl struggled to clean. Fleur pulled a sponge from the cupboard and charmed it with her wand, and it zipped over the curtain to help her.

"Just lie back, zis will do ze work," she spoke through the curtain. Hermione was quiet, and Fleur began asking her questions about their travels. Most of them she gave hesitant, vague answers to, never giving away the location or their objective, but Fleur could tell she was tired and weak. She kept up a steady chatter, asking Hermione if there was anything she needed, and Hermione quietly asked if she could have a clean jumper or something else to wear. Fleur summoned the clothes she'd brought downstairs and handed the girl a towel which was charmed to mimic the sponge. Hermione let out a startled squeak as the towel ran over her and Fleur charmed the dressing gown to cover the young lady as she drained the water from the tub.

"It iz sad zat so many of ze witches in these family 'ave been hurt," Fleur said, and Hermione turned curious, fearful eyes to her as she brushed her hair.

"Ginny was captured over Chreestmas," Fleur admitted, and Hermione's hairbrush dropped.

"She is fine. She escaped before New Years, but I fear zey hurt her badly," she explained, and Hermione covered her face and shuddered. "She weel be fine, 'Ermione," Fleur assured, but Hermione looked up with tears in her eyes.

"Don't tell Harry or Ron. Ron will demand to see her, and Harry . . . he won't take it well," she warned, and Fleur nodded.

"Geeny will not wish for him to worry when he is trying to stay alive," she agreed, and the two women walked down to meet Ron and see to the burial.

********************************************************************

Next up: Luna, Andromeda, and George . . . and we're coming to spring rapidly, so look for the support harry potter party!


	41. Sea Salt in Your Wounds

41

Luna

She was alive as she hadn't been in months. Warm for once, fully, to the tips of her toes and the edge of each fingertip, and she could run in circles outside as much as she wanted, once she was done helping in the kitchen. Luna was overwhelmed by stimuli: sights, bright colors, the whirring sound and talking coming from upstairs, Fleur's silvery hair shining as she moved with deft, quick strokes, following her own wand as it raced over Hermione's cuts, and the smell of hazelnut and sea salt filling the air, perfume to her nose that had smelt nothing but urine and mold for months. The cellar had been a room of nothing: damp, cold, grey and dark and dull, and she was immersed once more in life as she had not been in months.

Ron paced behind her and Luna was jarred from her excitement. She rushed to the stairs, following Bill, who was carrying Griphook. Luna grabbed Mr. Ollivander's limp form and charmed him weightless wandlessly, then hefted him over her shoulder and jumped the stairs two at as time. Her muscles had atrophied horribly over the three months spent locked in the downstairs of Malfoy Manor, but fear had made her strong, and she was completely focused on the frail man whose tiny shoulders fit inside her own thin arms.

"Don't worry Mr. Ollivander, I'm here!" she whispered hurriedly, setting him down on a bed and looking around the room wildly for a wand. She could not hope to stop the bleeding or pain from the cuts that had reopened during apparition without a wand. Talented or not, she was in a foreign atmosphere, unable to locate the simplest of remedies. Lamenting the lack of freshwater plimpies, which Daddy had always held made excellent soup, apart from their healing properties, Luna found a bathroom to her left and grabbed soap, water, and a rag, and began cleaning Mr. Ollivander's cuts. He winched but did not regain consciousness, and the roaring in her ears from all the new sounds after months of quiet was dropping to a lull. Fleur had ceased chattering to Ron below and Bill, wherever he might be, was no longer yelling.

She spied a golden chest at the foot of the bed and decided to throw caution to the wind. Throwing off the lid, she cried out in joy to see a long, slender wand in ivory and gold poking from the edge of a gown that glistened with gossamer threads and silk. Prying the wand out with care, she spun the weapon in her hand and went to work, her mind flying through healing spells and remedies. Mr. Ollivander's skin, purple and bruised, regrew and covered his broken legs, and the faded to a healthier pale tone. She levitated him to the tub and shot hot water over his cold muscles, then dried his clothes with a charm. Mr. Ollivander groaned and Luna levitated him back to the other room, pulling covers over his frail form.

"Loona, ze ozairs are gathering in ze garden. 'Arry is burying ze elf," Fleur spoke from the door. Luna followed her out and down the stairs.

"Oh Hermione, it's so good to see you! Do you have wrackspurts bothering you? You look tired," Luna offered, but Hermione grimaced and hugged her back with weak arms. Ron glared at her and quickly picked Hermione up, and Luna was shocked to hear no angry jibes coming from his overprotecting manner. Then she saw the red line running down Hermione's neck, strikingly clear against her light green robe. Luna shivered and patted Hermione's shoulder, then Ron's as well, which was much higher and required her to stand on tiptoe. Hermione noticed this and let out a weak chuckle.

"He does make that difficult, doesn't he?" she chuckled, but Ron's mouth was uncharacteristically set. Luna looked ahead, following his line of vision, and saw Harry's form slumped beside the grave, where Dean, dirty but smiling lightly at her, was leaning on his shovel. Luna felt her face warm. Was she being attacked by willinillis like the girls back at Hogwarts? Shaking off her hormones, she settled next to Hermione, who had been set down by a gentle Ron. Harry looked torn between abject sadness and a wish to run from the face of the Earth, and Luna saw him swallow deep when he looked at the grave.

She could not recall later what she had said, but in her short two sentences, Harry's body relaxed just slightly and she could see his face smooth, the lines over his forehead released from their prison.

Luna walked back, noticing Dean behind her, and Ron and Hermione, who were going slow, as Hermione had insisted on walking, up ahead of her. Fleur had hurried inside already, alongside Bill, and Harry was left to mourn in solitude. Luna sat at the table at Fleur's insistence and piled more food on her plate than she usually got in a week. Her clothes were hanging off her. Draco and his scones had been gone for too long from the Manor.

Dean pulled a blanket off the couch and set it around her shoulders, and Luna smiled at him in thanks. Fleur set rolls on the table, thick with butter melting down the sides, and Luna could have moaned in happiness.

"Fleur, do you have any pickles?" she asked hopefully, and Fleur gave her a strange look before Bill let out a laugh.

"I remember babysitting you when you were just a tot, Ginny's age," he chuckled. Bill set down a huge glass jar filled with pickles, and Luna grabbed the lid, pulling hard. Dean held out his hand for the jar, but Luna shook her head.

"It's just being stubborn. They'll taste better if I talk to them anyway," and she began to coax the pickle jar to open softly, assuring the pickles that their lives would not be in vain.

Three minutes of talking later, the lid slid off into her hand and she cried out in delight, to which Dean laughed and speared a pickle for himself with his fork. Luna's chicken, rolls, and remaining mashed potatoes sat untouched on her plate as she crunched down on a particularly good pickle and sighed.

"Do you weesh to stay with us, Luna?" Fleur asked, and Luna turned to her with big eyes.

"Is it not safe at Daddy's?" she asked, and Ron, who had entered the room during the diatribe, laughed.

"Nowhere is safe, Luna, but Bill's got a hefty set of wards around this house. He's a curse-breaker," he added, and Luna nodded to Fleur, who was extending the same invitation to Dean. Her heart sank- just moments before she had been thinking about joining her father for a belated Christmas, and now, she was stuck once more. At least this time she would be safe and warm . . . and well-fed, she reflected, spooning some chicken into her mouth.

"You eat chicken with a spoon?" Dean asked, and Luna nodded.

"Of course. Forks are too dangerous," she said, spooning more chicken into her mouth. It had a savory mushroom sauce that made her want to swoon: her tongue was so happy.

"Ooo Fleur, this is delicious!" she praised, and Dean agreed. "Aren't you going to eat, Ron?" Luna asked, but Ron looked away towards the hall and shook his head.

"You can take her a plate," Fleur said softly, handing him some food, and Ron looked critically at the plate, then began cutting up the chicken to Fleur's soft chuckles.

"Don't worry, you can blame it on me," Bill laughed, clapping his brother on the back. Ron smiled at long last and added a few rolls to the plate, splitting them in half and adding jam.

"She likes them sweet," he said softly, and then he disappeared up the stairs.

Luna smiled. Ron was awfully sweet. She grabbed a plate and began filling it for Griphook and Mr. Ollivander, enlisting Dean to carry up some extra food on a second heavy plate.

"So where have you been?" she asked Dean, and he shrugged. "Here and there- hiding, working, mostly at a different joint every month. I couldn't stay too long in one place," he offered, and Luna frowned. "How did you get captured then?"

"I did something stupid. Tried to help a bunch of guys I'd been travelling with for awhile . . . but I got 'snatched' and then I escaped. They tracked me for a month, but I didn't know it, so I was still doing magic- left my imprints at work, in some shops . . . once I left the house I'd been staying at, coz the owners were coming home, I camped outside. They surrounded me less than a day later and I tried to fight my way out. Anti-Apparition jinxes. Couldn't get out," he finished simply. Luna patted his shoulder and he looked at her sideways.

"You did your best, Dean," she said, and the two entered Griphook's room. It seemed they had offended the goblin by offering him "wizard's fare," and Dean had forgotten to tell her that he would likely prefer fresh, raw meat. Luna nodded and apologized to Griphook, whose anger seemed to wither into confusion at her apology. Luna tripped down the stairs, twirling her hair, and then stopped to look at it. She was filthy. It seemed her wandless magic aimed at cleaning her skin and maintaining her hair's luster had been short-circuited during the excitement, and a month's worth of sweat and grease clung to her. Luna hurried back upstairs with a plate of Bill's steak, trying to ignore her stringy locks, and then she locked herself in the bathroom for a full hour, scrubbing the grit off her skin and shampooing her hair three times.

When her fingers had pruned, a sure sign that she had been attacked by wrackspurts and forgotten to get out of the tub, she wrung out her hair and used the ivory wand to dry herself, realizing she had forgotten a towel. Dean was waiting outside, and he smiled as she reminded him to grab a towel before he showered.

"Where'd you get a wand?" he asked, and Luna felt the willinillis surge around her again. He did have such a nice smile and such white, even teeth.

"I don't know," she replied, and Dean shrugged. Fleur offered her a light blue sweater and some jeans and underthings, which Luna changed into immediately, while Fleur hurried downstairs. She unlocked the door to the room and peered out into the hall. Dean's new clothes were lying by the bathroom door and the next bedroom was open. Ron's low voice was coming from the room, and feeling suddenly lonely and apprehensive, Luna tiptoed to the room, the sweater hanging off her frame. She felt terribly thin and full of food at the same time, and the contradiction was unnerving.

"Of course I _was_ scared, Ron, but I could hear you yelling," Hermione was saying, and her voice sounded weaker than Luna had ever heard. Ron made no reply, but Luna could imagine his ears turning red at all the implications this opened to study.

Luna had heard enough. She knocked quietly on the door and Ron appeared, straight-backed like a guard dog, his wand at the ready.

Luna held up her hands and Ron relaxed.

"She's kind of tired, Luna, I don't think this is the best time," he began, but Luna was already in the room, and had plopped down on Hermione's bed. She grabbed her hand and squeezed, and Hermione smiled back.

"It's good to see you Luna," she said softly, and Luna nodded.

"I'm glad you're safe now," she said simply, and Ron grimaced beside them, but if Hermione noticed, she didn't say anything.

Luna chattered to her friend, asking them what they had been able to eat while on the run, and Ron was surprisingly quiet, letting Hermione talk.

"So how was school before you were captured? When did you get taken to Malfoy Manor?" Hermione asked.

"Just before Christmas. I was rather lonely but Mr. Ollivander and Draco were wonderful companions," she replied, and Ron chocked on the roll he'd been eating behind her. Hermione looked at her, confused, and then rolled her eyes as Ron muttered behind her.

"How is Ginny?" she asked worriedly, and Luna paused, trying to decide how much to tell.

"Not good," she finally answered, figuring the truth was best.

"She looks tired and stressed all the time, and I know she's been crying a lot. I think she misses Harry," she answered. Ron's face screwed up behind Hermione and he sat down on the bed, looking at her intently.

"What do you mean, she's been crying? Ginny never cries," he argued, and Lunja shook her head.

"She does sometimes, she's just quiet about it," she informed, and then she proceded to tell them about the Carrows. By the time she'd gotten to their foray into the Forbidden Forest, Ron was white and tight tipped, and Hermione was in tears.

"How could they do that to Hogwarts?" she asked shakily, but Ron answered for Luna.

"Easy. They're Death Eaters, Mione. We're lucky they're not killing students," he said, and Luna added "yet" under her breath.

"You should get some rest, Mione," Ron added worriedly, and Luna nodded in agreement and left the room.

Dean was sitting outside in the hallway, tears streaking down his cheeks.

"Seamus never could keep his trap shut," he whispered, and Luna scrunched down the wall to sit beside him.

"He's very good at protecting other people," she offered quietly, and Dean shuddered next to her.

Luna put her hand on his knee, feeling it warm her fingers through his trousers. Dean smelled of fresh soap and some musky scent she couldn't quite place.

"He'll be alright, Dean. So will you. Ginny will take care of everyone until we can fight," she answered, and Dean let out a gruff chuckle, wiping his cheeks.

"But who's taking care of Ginny?"


	42. A Newborn Triumph

Sorry for the lapse! I'm past midterms now and my second job has begun, but the worst of it is over. Transitioning= not so smooth. Please review- it really does guilt me into writing faster! I have the next two chapters rough draft done and will finish and post them within the next night, no excuses

-Jenna

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42

Andromeda

It was dark in the tiny room, and she could feel pressure on her thighs from sitting on them for so long. She ached to get up. Dora needed her.

_Ted, you should be here to see this_, her heart ached, and she brushed it aside. Dora's face, strained and white, let out a cry beside her, and she rubbed her daughter's back, whispering soothing words and patting her forehead dry with a towel. Molly looked aglow with excitement beside her, medical kit and blankets waiting and ready with the same expression as if she were about to become a grandmother herself. Andromeda smiled at her and urged Nymphadora to push, rubbing another long circle over her lower back. Her baby was having a baby.

Sweat beaded down her back, running lazy in droplets down the curve, and she grimaced at the unwelcome sensation. Dora was swimming in sweat, her own face drenched along her hairline and her customary violet hair a deep sunset magenta, matted against her face. Dromeda pulled it back and secured it for what had to be the sixth time with a clip, and then she ran her wand over Dora, sending a cooling charm to cover her.

"No, Mum, no magic, remember!" Dora pleaded through gasps for breath, and Molly chuckled from the doorway.

"That baby is coming whether we wave wands or not, honey, so relax and just try to push," she silenced Dora, and Remus' nervous voice chimed in from the other room with his oh-so-predictable "Is everything alright in there?" as Tonks let out a howl of pain.

"Don't even think about it!" Dora growled as Dromeda raised her wand to set another pain numbing charm over her belly.

"Fine, but it won't hurt the baby," Andromeda argued, exasperated. Her daughter was so strong, and so stubborn. _I know, Ted, she got it from me- you always did say I'd get what was coming someday_, she thought with a twist of her heart. Tonks let out another screech and Remus banged on the door, which had been magically sealed by none other than Tonks herself.

"You are NOT going to prattle next to me and ask me if I'm ok for an entire eight hours until this baby is born," she'd argued vehemently, and Remus had wisely accepted her ultimatum. Dromeda dropped further, lifting the blankets to check on the progress.

"You're doing fine dear, the baby's head is visible. Just a few more pushes," she cautioned, wiping sweat from her own brow and then Dora's , and Molly leapt into action at her words, her wand flying to heat the water they'd put in her "baby bathtub".

"AAARRGGH!!!!" Dora screamed, and Dromeda watched, wide-eyed and grinning from ear to ear, as the shoulders appeared, sliding the baby's head into her hands.

"COME ON NYMPHADORA, JUST ONE MORE!" she yelled, and Remus had erupted into a flurry of pounding on the other side of the door, frantically pleading to be let in. Molly was yelling for him to can it in a very un-Mollyish way and Dora fixed her mother with a death glare.

"DON'T call me NYMPHADORA!" she screeched, and with a last push, a beautiful, perfect baby boy, covered in goop and blood, slid into Dromeda's waiting hands.

"Oh, Dora, look, he's perfect!" she crooned, holding up the baby, who struggled in her arms and let out a wail. Molly tapped him with her wand to get a temperature reading, and smiled as Dromeda sunk the baby's bottom half into the warm water. He let out a wail and his arms flailed in the air, and Dora sat, heaving for breath, transfixed as her mother bathed the tiny infant.

When he was clean she wrapped him up in his first diaper and a blanket Molly had made especially for the little one, and set a warming charm on him.

"Let poor Remus in, he's near sobbing, Molly," she said softly, and Dora reached eager hands out to take her baby. The little body settled against her chest and belly, and Dora let out a surprised "oomf!" as he latched on to her breast and began to suckle greedily almost immediately.

"Yes, you did that too- hungry for more from the minute you were born," Andromeda commented, her eyes shining. The room blurred as Remus's figure darted past and knelt at the bed, his hands resting half on Dora and half on his son.

"Let's leave them, Molly," she said softly, and with tears in her eyes- from sadness or joy, she couldn't quite decide- she pulled the insistent Molly Prewett Weasley from the newborn's room.

"We'll have plenty of time to get to know him once his parents have," she reminded.


	43. RedHotRedHead

I don't know quite how this happened, but George's chapter was posted as 43 by accident when it should have been Michael . . . to those who already read george out of order, I apologize! You get a slight reprieve back to Hogwarts inner circle and the DA before the battle begins!

Enjoy-

Jenna

* * *

43

Michael

He had know from the beginning it was a bad idea. Poor Hagrid was running for the hills- something that was quite a sight to see- and dodging fire from six different Death Eaters. Mike was exhausted, and now that Fang had bounded out of range of the Death Eaters and Grawp, monstrous and hairy, was running at the remaining fighters, causing the ground to shake with his lumbering feet, Mike figured his work was done. The security detail for the party he'd feared would be the end of them all melted into the background as one, pulling disillusionment jinxes over one another and walking back from the edge of the forest to make it to Hagrid's hut. At least they could secure his belongings before the Death Eaters returned.

Mike trudged past another invisible partner in crime and grinned before he hit himself on the head. They couldn't see him either. Neville was inside the hut, casting a ward around it that let in only students, and Hannah was stooped over a concussed Terry, who had managed to jump onto one of the Death Eater's backs when Padma had been disarmed in the scuffle. Aftermath was always the time he hated- gone was the adrenaline that made cuts and pain forgotten, and his aches came back in full force as he needed to help the others around him. Neville straightened, eyeing Mike's black eye and cut up lip from a punching hex he'd sustained, and ordered everyone who could walk to get back up to the castle and stay out of the Room if possible.

"I think they're well aware of our presence, even if they don't know where the Room is. We don't need them to decide they should clear us all out while they're here at the castle- keep to the common rooms, and I need someone- ah, ok- Romilda, yes- please let Ginny know what's going on, she was fit to kill me when I made her stay behind."

"Gotcha chief," Romilda chirped back, and Mike rolled his eyes.

"Susan, Ernie, we should be good- I'll come up in a few and we can put together a report for Kingsley," Neville added, and a rather beaten up Ernie grudgingly leaned on Susan before she disillusioned him, levitating his body next to her with a grim face.

"OUCH! I believe that was a chair, Susan!" Ernie's disembodied voice rang out, and four voices shushed him from seemingly empty space. Godric, he hated having those charms in place- you could never tell who you were talking to, friend, foe, or even Filch. It was unbearable trying to guess through voices. Only last week in simulation, Mike had gotten the thrill of his life when a girl he'd thought was Ginny pressed up against him in battle and ran her hand teasingly along his thigh, giggling- and of course, it was Demelza. Damn that girl.

Hannah was talking quietly to Neville beside him, and Mike hefted Terry onto his side and pulled his slurring pal up to walk. Padma was anxiously hovering next to her protector, and she gave Mike a watery grin when he shot her a reassuring thumbs up and hefted Terry out the door. The Death Eaters were sending jets of light from the edge of the forest at an increasingly-violent Grawp, though they seemed to be more intent on holding him off than pursuing their quarry. Wherever Hagrid was, he was safe- and Mike wondered for a second if it wouldn't be nice, sometimes, to have a Giant half-brother- underweight or not, he snorted as he walked- in situations like these.

Terry made a groaning sound beside him and Mike shifted his friend's weight to carry more. Padma pulled up on his other side, invisible too, but he could hear her whispering to Terry.

They made their way up to the castle and into the front doors, which were mercifully still unlocked from where the Ravenclaws had jinxed them earlier. It was warm outside, the second half of April- the grounds had thawed and grass was shooting up, and after a long winter, he was more than happy that Easter was this weekend, with or without going home. Half the students lived in the Room permanently now anyway, and classes were ridiculously empty. It felt like the entire school had converged in the Room, battling one another in the simulation room, playing gobstones and exploding snap each evening, and listening to the radio for Potterwatch with avid ears. As April had melted the snows, more and more students had trickled in- some forced to, because their lives had been threatened by the Carrows, and others because of serious injury or targeting by Slytherins. Ginny had gone mad trying to talk students out of living there, stating that with each disappearing student, their chances of discovery grew tenfold, but looking at his friends now, Mike thought that if the Carrows ever did find the Room, the would be hard pressed to get out alive. Nearly half the student body had suffered torture or injury at their hands, and the grudges went deep. Mike clenched his hands at the thought of what he'd do if Amycus ever made it in, and turned back to Terry, who was singing "Puff the Magic Dragon" under the influence of some very heavy pain potions. Justin chuckled from across the room, added the three of them to his list of returnees, and Padma smiled at Mike and levitated her "he's-not-my-boyfriend, Vatti!" into the infirmary with a shaking hand and a watery laugh.

Mike sat down hard in a leather armchair and rubbed his eyes. School was not school anymore- Hogwarts was not Hogwarts- and the last month had flown by in a whirl of tests and studying- only they weren't going to classes. McGonagall sent instructions in for students to continue transfiguration, stating she would grade anything a student staying in the Room sent for her, but most permanent residents were caught up in an entirely different subject they felt was more suited to their career paths: staying alive, 101.

Between Kingsley's last two visits and Remus teaching them all how to "dance" in a duel, while showing off pictures of his tiny, turquoise-haired tot, Mike had been well-schooled in survival. The Ravenclaws had filled up what once would have been Ancient Runes or Arithmancy with mastering document forgery- wizarding passports granting free passage and apparition to France and Romania, where the Muggleborns could be safely transferred, and papers that documented fake family trees. Mike in particular had loved looking up second cousins to the Malfoys three generations back and adding to fucking Draco's family tree, making Justin Finch-Fletchley his uncle once removed. Ah, Revenge was sweet.

Perhaps the biggest obstacle now was making sure that students who were staying outside in classes didn't get tortured by Alecto, Amycus, and their sadistic squad of Slytherin thugs. Students who were friends or bunk mates to those who "disappeared" into the Room were being pulled in for questioning, though Snape had strangely declined from joining in this sport. Ginny angrily decried that he simply refused to get his hands dirty, but Mike found himself confused: why would the Headmaster not hunt down his missing charges for punishment? Surely Moldy Shorts would punish him for losing future Death Eater Wannabes, wouldn't he?

His headache was lifting, but Mike knew they had a long way to go. Balloons from the botched event, covered in Harry's signature and pictures of him catching a snitch adorned the ceiling of the Room, and students were lazily aiming their wands at the floating targets, shooting them down with resounding 'pops'. Mike's eyes followed Ginny, who was talking to Neville and donning her cloak, her hair brushed back in curls- and then she started towards the door to the Hogs Head. Mike leapt up, certain she would need backup.

"Ginny, are you sure you don't want some help? I can come with, I'm not too wounded," he gestured, plucking up his own cloak and throwing it on. Ginny's mouth was set and unnerved, and Mike pulled back, seeing a vein throb in her temple unpleasantly.

"Michael, the reason we broke up is because I love HARRY. I do not want or need you to help me, in fact, I HATE IT. I can do it myself. I do not want you tagging along and trying to open doors for me and pull out chairs- I want to go do some undercover work, and you are clumsy in battle and have big, loud feet- and I don't need the extra stress of watching your back for you. Quit looking at me all the time. I've had it."

Her deadly tone shot straight through him as the balloons popped. Some inner hope had been riding safe inside him, fragile as a soap bubble, and Ginny had just stabbed it with a needle.

"You know, the reason why we broke up is because you love yourself, Ginny. You couldn't give me what I wanted."

Her jaw clenched, and Mike took a step back. Ginny laughed, strangely high pitched.

"Yes, Michael, I love myself so much that I've let myself get beaten up again and again to fight in this war. I'm about to go infiltrate the Riddle House- that's Moldy Shorts' old hideout, by the way- because I LOVE MYSELF TOO MUCH. Wanna know what our problems were? First, you never listened. Second, you almost strangled me with affection I didn't want. Three? Gee, what did I say before?" she paused, looking at him with glittering, dark eyes.

"You're not the man I love, and you would have know that if you'd ever spent a minute of our time together getting to really know me, instead of pushing me around like some porcelain doll."

Mike gulped. Ginny turned away, her hands shaking, and slammed the door, and buzzing filled the air around him. He slumped into the nearest seat, trying to look small, as the entire room of students all locked eyes on him and began to whisper. So she really didn't like him after all.

_How the hell had he been placed in Ravenclaw?_


	44. Sound the Alert!

So, we have things beginning to come together as the Trio's short time at Shell Cottage comes to a close. Harry, as we know, is named Godfather to little Teddy- and did you notice the shift in focus from what's going on in Hogwarts to what's going on outside? I felt it would be unfair to show what the students went through without showing Dean, Aberforth, Luna, and others who fought but from outside the castle. I also love writing from Fleur's perspective- I really do see her as a positive character, despite her immaturity in her time during the Triwizard Tournament. I love developing her relationship with the Weasleys and with Hermione and Ginny in particular. She represents a completely different strong female from their more tomboy- approach to fighting a war.

Up after George is Snape, Malfoy, and a shocker from the last character you'd expect . . .

* * *

43

George

"GEORGE! IT'S STARTED! HARRY, RON AND HERMIONE ARE GONE, THEY BROKE INTO GRINGOTTS!" Bill's voice yelled through the floor. George swept off the couch and jumped up to grab his cloak, saying a silent prayer to whatever gods had decided to keep Molly Weasley at the Diggory's place today.

"How the hell did they get in!?" Fred yelled from his perch on the fireplace floor, stuffing his boots on his feet.

"More like how did they get out, Freddie. They rode out on a dragon," Bill admitted, and his head turned to listen to Fleur behind him

"WICKED." The two boys chorused, looking at one another in shared admiration.

"What's happening? Where are we fighting?!" Fred asked, and George ran to the kitchen to grab some supplies.

"Hogwarts- Gin contacted me by the mirror, she says she can't be sure, but she thinks Harry will come to Hogwarts. Something about needing to find some of the Chief Death Eater's possessions- she wouldn't explain," Bill's voice echoed from the living room. Muriel squawked as he tripped over her feet, which were propped on another chair, in his haste to get to the survival packs under the sink. Praising the concealment charm on the cookies and bacon wrapped inside, he shrunk the package and slipped it into his breast pocket.

"What's all this ruckus about?" Muriel demanded angrily, mopping at her spilled tea.

"Harry's out in the open, he's fighting, we need to get to Hogwarts Ginny says," he spilled quickly, and Muriel moved faster than he'd ever seen, grabbing her wand and waving it in a circle. A bright gold flash flickered outside and George gaped as she opened the window, grabbing her cloak and a broom zoomed down the stairs.

"Augusta and her crowd will need to be informed," she said crisply. "Inform your mother, young man, she deserves to know. The wards are reset; no one can get in without Weasley blood or Order status," and with that, Muriel launched herself out of the window into the steadily darkening sky, her clean swoop making him shake his head. Was it all a dream? He shook himself as Fred entered the room, shouting for Charlie to come.

"CHARLES WEASLEY GET YOUR FRUMPY ASS DOWN HERE, WE'RE FIGHTING!" he yelled and George accepted the medic pack from Fred and shoved this too into his cloak. Looking at Fred's bright yellow and magenta pants, he tapped their clothes with his wand and turned them black as Charlie came barreling down the stairs, clad only in boxers and socks.

"Oh my, Charles, were you entertaining?" Fred sniggered, and Charlie walloped him and accioed his clothes. George listened to Fred filling him in while he turned each of their shirts and cloaks black and conjured some red and gold masks, fashioned after Ginny's description of the DA's new uniforms.

"Awesome, battle gear," Fred said happily, and George gave him a look. His twin fell silent and watched as George's patronus swept off to their mother and father, who were volunteering at a Muggleborn shelter.

"Better tell the Diggory's and some others, too, Angie's still out recruiting with Katie," Fred offered, and the three sent a bevy of patronuses with the same message to everyone they could think of:

"HARRY AND CO. RETURNED TO FIGHT. HELP NEEDED AT HOGWARTS. COME ASAP! APPARITION TO THE HOG'S HEAD, AIM FOR INSIDE! POSSIBLE CATERWAULING CHARM IN PLACE!"

George pulled the others outside just as Katie and Alicia apparated in.

"What's going on?" Katie shrieked, and Alicia rolled her eyes.

"Where do you need us, George?" she asked him calmly, and even in the dim light, he could see determination steeling her pretty grey eyes.

"Ginny says we're needed at Hogwarts, probably to defend the castle tonight," he began, and Katie gasped beside them and began shaking. Angie accio'ed her healing kit and books, packing a bag as they stood, and Alicia turned to the other girls and shot off a patronus to her parents.

"Notify anyone you think can help, and Katie, turn those slacks some reasonable color- George, d'you think you can make us some masks?" she asked, and George nodded and twirled his wand thrice, before handing each of the girls a box of the purple stun-pellets from his breast pocket.

"Hey, why didn't we get any of those?" Fred complained, accio'ing a box, and Charlie chuffed him on the back of the head and pointed to Angie.

"Do you want your girl to be safer, or you?" he asked, and Fred reddened and grinned.

"Angie's a wildcat, Charlie, you clearly don't know her well," and sniggered. Angie rolled her eyes.

"Let's get going, already," she intoned, and then yelped- they six pulled out DA coins to see a message from Neville fading to normal gold lettering.

"HARRY AT HOGWARTS-FIGHTING TO COMMENCE- GET HERE NOW!"

"Well, you heard the man, let's go!" George yelled, and with a twist, he apparated next to the others, falling into the Hog's Head. Abe had set the wards to allow DA and Order members direct entrance to the living room upstairs, and when they got there, they weren't alone. Ginny had been on a mission Set to return to the Hog's Head that evening, she was furiously, spitting mad at a reticient Abe, who refused to let her go upstairs to the Room with a fight about to start.

"DON'T YOU DARE TELL ME I CAN'T FIGHT! They need me to help evacuate the castle, Abe!" she was yelling, and George held up his wand and shot off sparks.

"Enough. Ginny will be safe with us. Abe, we're going to need to use the shop- we've got to get the students out and the fighters in, probably a lot of people coming through after us," he informed the barman, who shrugged angrily and shot downstairs to close his bar early.

"C'mon, Harry's waiting," Alicia reminded, and they set off up the stairs to meet the fighters of Hogwarts.

"Ginny, what were you doing out of school?!"

"Neville and I decided that Harry might need some information, so I went out to collect it tonight. We were scouting the Riddle Home," she admitted guiltily, and Charlie let out an angry growl.

"DON'T you DARE go on a trip like that again without letting us know. We're not MUM, Gin Gin- and after what happened at Christmas, don't you think it's be a good idea to tell your brothers when you need help?" he argued, and Ginny paled and muttered an apology.

"Ok, ok, let's just get inside," Alicia cut him off, and George thanked her with his eyes. Katie shivered beside him and George suppressed the urge to roll his eyes at her. They were only walking up to the Room of Requirement, for Merlin's sake. He was suddenly overwhelmed by thankfulness that Charlie had made him see reason. She was clearly not a good fit for him.

Alicia, on the other hand . . . well, he'd think about it later, if they were still alive after this one.

The staircase wound up further as they followed the two-dimensional girl, Ariana, she was called, Abe had said, and Ginny thanked her at the top of the stairs.

"Ok, I just want to say something about tonight before we go in," Charlie said, and George did roll his eyes at his older brother.

"You really don't need to replace Poncy Percy during times like these, _Charles_," he joked, but Charlie went dead silent and gave him a glare that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

"Any of us might die tonight. Heck, we might all die. I want you to know I love you all, and that we should stick together- no running back and leaving one of us alone to get killed, no quick, unplanned retreats- keep your eyes on each other's backs. Protect one another. It's the only way we're going to be able to fight against Death Eaters- and all of you know that," he spoke forcefully, and Fred stopped his "Poncy-Perfect-Prefect-Percy" imitation and hugged his brothers.

"Percy might be a ponce, but no one can scare like _Charles_," Ginny muttered, and George let out a laugh and hugged her to him.

"Promise me you won't do anything stupid and noble, little sis?" he asked, hugging Alicia and Angie as well, so that all the girls were squashed. Katie cried on Charlie' shoulder, who looked incredibly uncomfortable.

"Promise." She answered truthfully.

The six headed up the stairs, but over the clomps of their feet on the stairs, George thought he heard her continue her sentence.

"That's Harry's job."

* * *

It's time for some Snape and Malfoy! Our favorite twisted, conscience-confused characters!


	45. Sands of Time

We're winding down to the Battle of Hogwarts . . . a few quick things I'd like to clarify:

Severus is the one charged with "searching" Ginny's person when she is captured. This is why she is left her potions and burn cream in her bra, as well as why is somewhat healed upon waking. He cannot heal cuts that are obvious on her arms and legs, but he CAN give her an early remedy to counter the werewolf cuts, which means she will have fewer "opening" wounds like Bill. She will, however, carry the cursed rose for the rest of her days.

No, Ginny does NOT hook up with Mike in Ernie's Chapter, i.e. the Valentine's Day battle.

Muggleborns and others hiding in the room may not leave the Room during school, mostly because if they are caught they face severe consequences.

Severus did not realize it was full moon on the night he sent the Hogwarts trio into the forbidden forest until AFTER they had left, and he returned to his room.

Dean's timeline is as follows: he stays with Justin, Creeveys and Ingrid until right before Christmas, then leaves to join Ted Tonks and the goblins, then separates but keeps in touch with Ted until his death on Valentine's Day. Dean is captured shortly after leaving to camp in the woods in March.

Ginny has been living at Hogwarts since her capture, but this information, as well as her capture, has been purposefully kept from Harry.

Mundungus was the only one who could apparate Ginny into the Hogs Head because he is not being tracked as the other Weasleys are, and Dung is also less likely to draw attention, since he frequents the place by back door often.

Ginny has not informed the rest of the family that Percy is "back".

* * *

45

Severus

What he wouldn't give for a Time Turner. There were times when the want for one had been so strong, even with the perils involved, and the knowledge that no one could go back twenty, thirty years, as he desired, that he would have lovingly parted with an arm or leg, ripped his soul, anything- and now, when he needed it most, just to go back a single day and get to bloody Potter so the boy could finally know the truth, he was stuck: the Dark Lord was horribly angry, more fearsome than Snape had ever seen him, and from what the others had told him, his frenzy of killing following the news that Potter had broken into Gringotts had left a long trail of death of any who stood in his way. Severus was grateful that he had not been at the meeting, but an omniscience he couldn't place told him that more was to come, that this- _**this**_ was the night- and he was stuck in the blasted school, surrounded by idiots who thought him their sworn enemy, when one- perhaps even many- might know where he could find the boy. McGonagall was likely still in touch with Remus, the Weasley girl was hiding out somewhere, though he hadn't been able to get her location from any student, Veritaserum be damned, and even Slughorn likely had a better idea where the boy would hide. Dumbledore's portrait was uncannily silent, observing his pacing and clenched hands, and Snape felt like a trapped deer, watching the wolves slowly circle him from behind and ready their chops.

He had no choice. The boy would eventually come to him, would seek out Hogwarts as his sanctuary- _all the lost boys had found their home here_- and he could do nothing until Potter showed himself.

"Patience, Severus. He will be here soon, Tom must know- and with luck, his knowledge of those underground passages will keep him from falling into the hands of your fellows," the portrait cautioned, and Snape turned, anger coursing through him, and brought his hands fiercely down on a davenport.

"They are NOT my FELLOWS!" he raged, and then he drew in hasty breaths, trying to calm. The old man looked at him with an apologetic smile but did not comment, and Severus was glad; he knew he was being immature.

"Severus, perhaps it would be best to speak to Minevra? She is not likely to share with you if she herself has any information but if she suspects Potter is here, her posture will give her away. I have always found that for a cat, she is uncommonly straight-backed and poised. Look for a raised chin, sharper shoulders than usual- she'll have to assume a dueler's stance if she is questioned to prepare herself mentally for any attack," Dumbledore suggested, but Snape, looking out his window, shook his head.

"Potter will find me with or without Minevra's help, Albus," he said softly.

"The boy has wanted to fight me for too long."


	46. Death in the Dugout

46

Ginny

Chaos should have reigned. The walls should be trembling, she thought to herself, looking out over the sea of faces in the Room. Half of the Quidditch league for England was here, brought by Oliver Wood, as well as the entire Order, minus her mother- THANK GODRIC!- and from what George had just said, it seemed the Old Crowd, led by Augusta, was on their way as well. Abe was going to be fit to kill when he saw two hundred people storm his living room, she thought with slight relish. Her eyes scanned the Room, smiling at Neville and she gave Hannah a nervous thumbs-up. Then she caught sight of a head of bushy hair she knew too well, and her breathing stopped short . . . her entire body tensed. Ginny felt every muscle contract in a mix of fear, surprise, and euphoria- emerald eyes locked on hers, and for the first time in over nine months, she could see Harry's tousled black locks and grim mouth. His eyes widened, holding hers across the heads, and she was vividly reminded of their first kiss, in front of Merlin knew how many people, and the desire to return the favor to him in kind swept over her. His eyes softened almost imperceptibly, and she felt cradled by warmth, delicate and sweeping, as they progressed down her face and then returned to caress her eyes again. Godric, he still loved her . . . she had feared the worst, had pushed away all hope that in the last year, he hadn't been beaten beyond the ability to love, that someday he'd still want her again when it was all over, and now, in a split second, it was as if all the collective moments of anxious fretting and crying washed away, a tide pulling back in the wake of his smile, and she couldn't have stopped smiling if she'd hexed herself.

Ron shifted beside Harry and Fred was speaking to them, and Harry seemed distressed and frustrated. His eyes closed in brief, intense pain, and Ginny felt her stomach lurch as she read his lips from across the room: he's on the move.

At once Hermione took control, whispering to him furiously, and then the Trio seemed to face the crowd once more, and Harry, while rubbing his scar, was asking if they knew of any artifact that would have belonged to Ravenclaw.

So this was it; the final Horcrux. For her time at the Riddle House she knew Nagini was still alive, and Harry had already dealt with the others, it seemed. Perhaps he still carried them with him, but it sounded as though most had been destroyed, if not all, except whatever he had stolen from Gringotts. Tom would be in a fury unlike any other, she shuddered to herself, and suddenly she knew exactly why Harry had chosen Hogwarts: this wasn't just a safe space, it was a hiding place.

Like the basilisk that had curled in coils below the dungeons for centuries, Tom had hidden some part of himself in the place he had called home, and Ginny knew that if anyone could find it, it would be Harry. Her head shot up as a smiling Cho Chang beckoned Harry forward, and she saw red.

"No, Luna will take Harry, won't you?" she interjected, ignoring the wide looks from her brothers and Hermione, who shook her head slightly. Yes, she should have known; those emerald eyes said he was hers and hers alone, but the thought of _bloody Cho Chang_ trying to steal even three minutes of her Harry's time alone when it could be her had shot through her like a steel blade. Cho looked incredibly put-out and slid down next to Michael, who wrapped an arm around her and gave Ginny a glare. Ginny grinned back; the bastards could have one another. Harry was leaving the Room and she walked purposefully over to Neville, who was rolling up a map.

"Looks like you changed the place up a bit," she hinted, and he grinned.

"I thought we might want something a bit more basic for letting in a big crowd. We don't need the simulation room right now, I figured the Room will have to accommodate an awful lot of changing tonight," he muttered, and Hannah slid down next to him, her healer's kit open as she rifled through it, trying to pick out what to take and what to leave.

"All of us accounted for?" she asked, and Justin nodded from his post.

"We sent out the Liasons to alert the houses while you were gone- don't worry, Nev got Gryffindor- and anyone below fifth is being evacuated under Plan B. The fourth and third years are setting off the emergency portkeys we made so they can alert their parents and get the firsties and seconds to safety, and we've got Ella, Astoria, Draco, Augustine, and Wade watching the Slytherins. Astoria will report back how many join the DEs."

"Excellent. Do we have anything in the way of battle formations yet? We've never factored in these extra recruits before," she offered, ignoring the wide-eyed look Ron was giving her and the shrewd acknowledgment from Hermione.

"Remus is coming and I wanted to wait for Kingsley to approve what I've got, but so far, I want younger students up in the towers to shoot down their spellwork, and I want three groups of fighters to take the west side of the grounds and fan out towards the shack. The DE s are camped in the Forbidden Forest and in the Shack," Neville paused. "No sign of Moldy Shorts yet, but it's likely a matter of time. I think he'll ignore the kitchen entrance, he doesn't give a fuck about house elves," here Hermione nodded, " but he knows about at least two of these entrances through the tunnels from Snape or Filch. We're going to have to put some booby traps up in addition to fighters," he informed, and Ginny waved Fred and George over.

"Boys, I have some fun for you," she grinned, and the twins went through their own pockets and the stash of WWW products she'd been hoarding in the strategy room, grabbing what they needed and setting off with Lee and Oliver, who were going to guard. Ginny stopped them at the door.

"Where in Morganna do you think you're going without the basics?!" she shrieked, and Fred rolled his eyes.

"We've got shield cloaks, sis, relax," he shrugged, but Ginny marched over and pulled them back from the portal.

"Do you see this Map?" she hissed, pointing to Snape, who was following Minevra to Ravenclaw tower, where Harry, Luna, and a gratefully unmoving Amycus and Alecto were stationed.

"THIS is what this map looks like if no one knows we all are aware of the situation. This map will be crawling with black robes the minute they learn that the students have portkeyed out, and we want to make sure that not a single DE thinks that we're moving students out until it's complete. Do you think that's going to happen if you four muck things up by being seen and then they KNOW we've got the entrances covered, and maybe even which ones?!?!" she hollered, and suddenly Ernie yelped.

"SNAPE'S CORNERED THEM! BLUE TEAM, WE NEED TO MOVE!" he yelled, but Ginny jumped up and cut the Ravenclaw rescuers off.

"HOLD ON JUST A MINUTE! Harry's got Minnie there, let's see what happens first," she argued, and she heard Ron ask Hermione who the hell Minnie was as Snape and McGongall battled across the Map. A minute later cheers went up in the Room and Snape's figure was seen floating out a window on the fourth floor. Ginny jumped into Hannah's arms and cheered until her throat felt numb. One arse was out of their way!

"OK, PEOPLE, LET'S MOVE! I NEED HELP GETTING THE YOUNGER STUDENTS FROM THE GREAT HALL AND UP TO THE ROOM, AND I NEED SOMEONE TO HAND OUT SURVIVAL KITS TO ANY STUDENT WHO DOES NOT HAVE A SET PORTKEY!" Ginny yelled, and then she swiftly turned to her brothers, who were trying to sneak past her.

"I said shield cloaks are not enough for a reason, Fred," she growled, and with a series of rather hard taps that left the boys complaining about the state of their skulls, Ginny's well practiced disillusionment charms had rendered them nearly invisible.

"Wow, you weren't joking when you said you'd been practicing," Fred said in awe, watching his feet fade to nothing. "Wicked!"

"Get going, guys, we need those entrances covered!" Neville gruffly ordered, and Ginny turned back to hugging Hermione, who had thrown herself at her as soon as the crowd had cleared.

"I'm so glad you're safe, thank Godric you could go to Bill's," she whispered, and Ron pulled her into a hug and squeezed her tight, lifting her off the floor. A sharp, hard metallic object bit into her side and she felt uneasiness steal over her.

"Which one is it?" she asked pointedly, and Ron gaped. Hermione looked around. Neville and Hannah were deep in conversation with Neville, setting up three medics for each of the teams for the grounds, and Kingsley was talking at large to the better half of the Room, splitting the fifth and sixth years into four groups to cover the towers.

"What? I mean, I don't know what you're talking about!" Ron squawked, but Hermione gave her a long look and then sighed.

"She knows, Ron, she figured it out back in summer," she admitted, and Ginny rolled her eyes.

"Is it the cup or the locket?" she leveled with them, and Hermione replied, "the first," to which Ron hissed at her to be quiet.

"Can I see it?" Ginny asked softly. "I was possessed by one of it's fellows, after all," she said, and Ron gulped uneasily and nodded.

"We don't know how to get rid of it, the bloody goblin stole the sword," he muttered, pulling open his pocket and letting her peer inside.

It was a hefty goblet, small but weighty, and she could see the luster even with no light hitting it directly. Small runes were carved over the top rim and a tiny badger could be seen on the forefront. It felt cold to the touch, and Ron closed his pocket hastily, looking around once more.

"So the sword was able to kill them? Why, because it was Gryffindor's?" she asked, and Hermione shook her head.

"No, it's impregnated with basilisk venom- the sword is goblin made, it only imbibes that which strengthens it," she rattled off, and Ginny smirked for a moment, knowing she was repeating the individual who'd informed her of this fact likely verbatim. Ginny peeked again at the tiny, innocent-looking cup, and sighed.

"So you don't have any idea how to destroy it? Fiendfyre would work, but I can't control it well enough. I can stop but not summon," she admitted, and Hermione dropped her wand and sparks shot out.

"You've seen fiendfyre? What the bloody hell happened while we were gone!?" Ron muttered, his voice getting louder with each syllable. Ginny hushed him and looked at Remus, who was tensely opening the door and greeting the wave of students who were now exiting towards the Hog's Head. Knowing they likely didn't have much time, she opted for the short side of the story.

"I dueled someone during my capture, and he used it. I just calmed it down. Amycus is actually to blame for saving me; if he hadn't been trying to teach us how to use dark magic like that, I never would have known how to send it back into the caster's wand," she told them, and Ron was still gaping, his mouth open like a dead fish.

"Well, yes, it's obviously too dangerous. We can't get into the Department of Mysteries to throw it beyond the veil, either," Hermione opined, looking worriedly at Ron.

Ginny slumped down into a chair. Here they were, prepared to fight, and they still had to find a mystery horcrux, and even if they did, they had no way to get rid of the bloody things . . . she thought back to the sword in the case, wondering if it would come if she did something heroic and called for it . . .

"Merlin . . . I wonder if . . . came Ron's dazed voice, and then suddenly he shot up, dragging Hermione up with him, who yelped. "SORRY, GIN, WE'LL SEE YOU SOON! I THINK I'VE GOT IT FOR ONCE!" he yelled emphatically, and Ginny careened after her scampering brother, her strides trying to catch his.

"WAIT! What do I tell Harry when he asks where you've gone?!?!" she yelled, as Hermione's shoe fell off and Ron continued to drag her out the door.

"WE'RE GOING TO THE BATHROOM!!!" he screamed, and Ginny sent the fastest disillusionment charm she'd ever done at their backs, laughing a bit when Hermione shrieked as Ron went transparent next to her.

"I can't believe them!" she growled, turning back to find Neville and decide which group she should be in.

Ginny stopped short, and her breath left her for the second time that day. _**Oh, shit.**_ Molly Weasley was staring at her like she was about to exorcise her youngest with a rusty spatula. Her father beamed at her from beside Mum, and Ginny rushed to his arms, enfolding herself in the Weasley scent of oak and willow.

"DON'T you DARE think for even a MINUTE that you're going to be fighting tonight, Ginevra Molly Weasley," came her Mum's deathly snarl, and Ginny flipped out her wand in a heartbeat and sent off five hexes, a trip jinx, and a succession of speedy stunners at the dummies who'd appeared for her needs.

"DON'T THINK FOR A MINUTE, mother dear, THAT YOU CAN STOP ME," she hurled back, sending up a shield that reverberated as her mother's sneaky binding hex shot at her.

"I WILL NOT LET YOU! You're underage, YOU'VE GOT TO GO!" she screamed, and Harry reentered the Room with Luna at his side as cheers went up around the Room.

"The others, yes, but you, you've got to go!" her Mum was screaming, and Ginny pulled her hand wildly from her mother's grasp, her hair whirling in a halo around her face.

Her eyes searched out Harry's, hoping to see acceptance and support, but he looked away, uncomfortable, and Ginny felt the wrath of five years of ignorance and petty overprotection settle into her blood.

"Fine, then, I guess I'll just say goodbye," she spat, her heart breaking even as she began to plan her options for getting back onto the grounds, but Remus intervened. Suddenly her father was giving her the sternest look she'd ever seen, and Ginny's heart fell. She was going to be trapped in this Room. She was probably the best fighter in here after Harry, Kingsley, and Bill- hell, she'd beaten Remus plenty of times, Hermione too- and she was going to be wasted because she was a few months shy of seventeen. Anger and misery floated through her, and she turned away from the departing fighters as her eyes filled with shameful tears.

The Room emptied until it was only she, and Ginny asked it for a portal to the grounds to see the battle forming. Suddenly the door creaked behind her and Augusta Longbottom tutted at her as her wand went flying across the Room.

"That's a family heirloom, Missy, you better not have injured it," she preached as Ginny handed her back her wand. Tonks tumbled out of the portal in a worrisome fit, looking around as if expecting to be surrounded by Death Eaters.

"TONKS!" Ginny yelled in delight, catching her friend before she fell once more into a hug. Tonks clutched her and then pulled back.

"Have you seen Remus? Is he alright?" she asked intensely, and Ginny nodded.

"He's fine, Tonks, he's out getting ready, I'm sure he'll be alright," she assured, and Tonks' white face calmed just slightly.

"How's the godmother of my son?" she teased, seeming to relax as she took in the quiet of the Room, which was playing phoenix song to calm Ginny's nerves.

"I'd be better if I was out there fighting," she said, and she immediately regretted it as Tonks' round face took on a guilty look.

"Remus didn't want-" she began, as Ginny hugged her again and tried to cut her off. Suddenly Harry was back in the Room, and Ginny's whole body became sensitive to even the pressure in the air.

She raced out of the Room, grinning as she heard his emphatic call for her to "come back!" once they'd finished using it. Tonks raced off to find Remus, ignoring her pleas for her friend to stay close (and safe, Ginny thought in her head,) and she turned to see Abe sending curses down into the crowd. The noise outside of the Room was paralyzing, and she had to shake herself internally and put a muffling charm over her ears before she could hear herself think over the booms and the shaking of the castle.

Shooting a stunner down into the crowd battling below, she hid beside the window and waited, then levitated a stone up to where her head was before. When no one hit it out of the air, she quickly pivoting into the space again and shot down three more stunners, taking out a series of Death Eaters who were fighting Kingsley and his fellows near the entrance. Abe shot down several more, halving the group of opponents who were targeting Kingsley, and the wizard shot them a thumbs up as the last three opponents he'd been fighting we shot back into the crowd, stunned or bloodied. Ginny felt her heart stop as a blooding boiling hex she sent off hit a target who screamed, muted by the battle, and she felt her stomach flip-flop. She needed to do more than just stun, since they could be enervated by a fellow death eater, but was she really ready to kill? Settling for aiming to break their wand arms, since bones were tricky to mend, she ran down to the lower level and began shooting carefully placed reductos and cutting hexes at robed figures in the forefront, where Remus and her father's red locks could be seen. Ginny saw a group of thirty begin to overpower Charlie's team and made up her mind in an instant: she was going to the grounds, no questions about it. Leaving Abe behind to shoot long-range, she ran down the hall, a burning smell turning her stomach. Were they using fiendfyre? Ginny's legs suddenly gave out from under her and she felt her entire world flip as she was sent tumbling in pain down the stairs. Her vision went blurry for a second and pain overwhelmed her as she tried to sit up and put up a shield. A cruel laugh sounded as her shield broke and she sent up another, gold and strong, and her opponent cried out as his spell returned to hit him. Her eyes tearing up, she smeared the water off her face and blinked furiously, tapping her wounded legs and sealing the cuts up in a jiffy. Her sore body bent willingly low to the ground, and she began to run headlong at her surprised opponent, who conjured a shield, his hood falling back.

Crabbe Senior sent up a shield to cover him, but her cutting hex reached his leg before it expanded. He howled as she sliced through his calf and began to duel angrily, his wand swishing, almost invisible, and Ginny was forced to dodge a nasty curse and roll behind a stone archway, firing stunners and a low trip jinx. She spied a mirror across from her and sent a stunner and a series of hexes at it, trying to reflect the spells to him, but he shattered the mirror and advanced, and a rushing sound filled her ears.

"ARGH!" she cried out. Thousands of bats filled the air, biting at her arms as she covered her head, and she conjured a huge flame that roasted them.

"HEARD THAT'S A SPECIALTY OF YOURS, BITCH!" came Crabbe's voice, and Ginny grimaced as blood ran down her arms from several nasty bites. She sent a spray of water down the archway and he laughed, letting his feet track through the pool, as he sent Avada Kedavra's at her. Ginny pounced left and right, twirling frantically to avoid the green jets. She tried to reach the water to freeze it, knowing it would stick his feet to the floor as planned, but she had been forced to roll away from the trail of water into the hallway, and he was walking closer, cornering her, and the spells kept coming faster as she dodged and retaliated, trying to set up a shield and send another low cutting hex. Suddenly he screamed, and Ginny peeked over the edge of the chair she'd been transfiguring to attack him with it's arms, seeing a blur of fire race down the hall away from her.

Neville emerged from the steam, coughing and dirty. His pants were ripped and a chunk of his knee flesh was missing. Ginny raced over, her claves aching, and began aiming her wand at the missing hunk.

"What did you do to him?" she panted as he collapsed onto a chair, looking around and pulling pain potion from his breast pocket and downing the lot.

"I turned the water to gasoline and lit it," Neville admitted, and Ginny gaped at him for a split second before rising and grabbing his arm. A horrendous boom shook the castle around them , and Neville pulled her under one of the tables as a huge slab of stone sixteen feet across left the ceiling and crashed down to the floor, filling the room with dust and smog. Ginny's ears were ringing and screams erupted once more. She drew her wand in a wide arch, siphoning the dust towards the floor, and the smog cleared in a whirl of energy. Neville crawled out from under the half-collapsed table and pulled shards of wood from his arm, tapping it with his wand and rolling a conjured bandage over the cuts.

"Let's get out of range of whatever's doing that," Ginny murmured as they ran towards the entrance of the Great Hall. Colin and Justin ran past, shouting that there were giants, and Ginny slid her sweaty palms on her pants and then snapped backwards to shoot a stunner at a hiding Death Eater, whose curse had sailed over her shoulder. Three more jumped from behind him, obviously now in the castle from the passage through the kitchens, and Neville's wand whipped through the air with hers, disarming the first and stunning the second. They bound the three within moments and Ginny snapped their wands viciously. "Bloody backstabbers," she muttered, throwing down the pieces. She tugged Neville out to the grounds, screaming as a gigantic foot came down beside her at the door and ducking to pull them behind one of the giant stone pillars. Neville shot an orange spell up into the eye of the giant and he roared, blinded, and staggered off into a crowd of Death Eaters who were firing spells at them. Fifty black robes were blasting apart the last remnants of the knights of Hogwarts, whose clubs and maces and swords were attacking their enemies with deadly accuracy. McGongall raced past, her hair falling out and her face wild, and a mass of desks roared beside them out the door, pushed on by her battle cry to trample the Death Eaters. The desks shot into the air in blasts of flying wood and metal as they were blown apart and more advanced, and Ginny conjured a shield as Neville dragged her behind him to get out from behind the pillar. Avoiding the clambering tops of the desks, the two ran to the crowd of scarlet, blue, and yellow masked fighters, who were shooting millions of beams of deadly light at the black robes. Fire burst out, hot and blindingly brilliant, and Ginny heard more screams overpower her ears as some figures caught fire and raced about. Fifteen others sent water at their own, and steam rose up in the night sky, lit by the oranges and flashes of green, and she heard a terrible scream that ground her brain against her skull.

"HANNAH!!" Neville roared, flinging off into the dark, and Ginny grabbed Justin's hand and pulled Colin behind her, yelling for them to cover one another as they took out some of the duelers who were tackling three on one. It would have been pitch black, but the light from the fire lit the ground behind the Death Eaters, ripping up the dry grass and lacing the sky with a pearly glow behind their enemy. Ginny felt heat on her face as the wind whipped the flames over their bodies, the heat seeping above them like a visible haze, and Ginny felt her skin begin to blister as the wind carried more and more heat towards them.

"GET OUT OF RANGE!" Justin screamed, sending water at the nearest approaching flame, which had a devil-like horse racing inside it, the outlines of muscles ripped and rendered by the red tips. Ginny heard a deep explosion behind her- the fighters had dug out a hole to retreat into, putting earth between themselves and the hellish flames, and Death Eaters were advancing on their flank, picking off those who were scrambling into the hole. Aiming her wand at their ringleader, she sent a powerful sectumsempra at his wand arm and blinked as the man's body was shot backward, his hand dropping off at the wrist and a terrible, guttural scream reached her ears. Ginny's entire body shook and she retched into the red hot soil by her feet, hearing Justin scream for her to get up. She pulled herself to sit up and blocked a spell with a quick shield and scrambled to her feet, sending stunners at the group of fighters trying to trap her brothers. Bill and Charlie weaved in and out, dueling eight between them, as Fleur stooped over her father, and Remus could be seen between his wife and Alicia, who was trying to support Tonks as she shielded the two of them, retreating to the hole. Ginny took out one of Bill's opponents with a blinding hex and shot light into the darkness where Charlie had been, followed by a nasty bludgeoning hex that took out the three men who had been standing over him. Racing to his side, she tripped over a soft, mushy mound and held back her gag as her eyes met the cold, unseeing ones below. Colin bumped her from behind, shielding her while she revived Charlie frantically and sealed the deep cuts in his chest.

"DRINK THIS!" she hollered, shoving the vial of blood replenishing potion into his mouth, and Charlie woozily tipped his head back and swallowed. Ginny parried a curse and sent a blinding hex back at the caster, pulling up a second shield when Colin screamed and went down. Fleur pulled Charlie up and dragged him to the hole, and Ginny hefted Colin by her side and disarmed an advancing enemy, binding him in silvery ropes and snapping his wand.

"C'mon, Colin, please be ok!" she yelled, sending up another shield as more curses rained down. She slapped his face and enervated him twice, and on the second attempt he stirred beside Charlie. Fleur's wand raced over him twice and Colin blinked up at her.

"DON'T YOU DARE SCARE ME LIKE THAT AGAIN!" she screamed, aiming a blood-boiling hex angrily at the three men who we were throwing curses at her head. Fleur sent up a shield and Ginny pulled herself up out of the hole, shooting down four in her wake. Bill was dueling with his left hand- a sight that made her want to cry- and she grabbed his arm and set up a shield, blocking out his five remaining opponents.

"THINK ABOUT HOW MUCH YOU LOVE ME AND HOLD UP YOUR OTHER HAND!" She yelled, and a silvery, glowing bubble erupted around them. Ginny grasped her brother's arm as he took initiative and fired curses at the Death Eaters congregated around them, protected by her shield. An angry neon green curse hit their shield with a weighty ding and a second rebounded, taking out the caster, and Ginny squinted her eyes, trying to see through the pain in her legs. A nasty cutting hex hit her belly and she screamed as her shield fell, but Bill took out the Death Eater with a feral growl, and the man shot back into the flames and disappeared in a scream. He pulled her back into the hole beside Fleur, who was sobbing, and Ginny's heart stopped.

Really, she looked so peaceful- it was as though she was simply asleep, a distorted angel in the midst of war, crowned with a wreath of bloody, burned prints across her forehead, and Bill let out a deep moan of pain as Ginny stared at her friend. She was gone.

"WHERE IS HE?!" she screeched, looking around wildly.

"HE IZ IN ZE NEXT HOLE, THEY WERE SEPARATED BY ZE FIRE- IT WAS BELLA!" Fleur sobbed, sending up a shield that covered half of the hole. Ginny knelt in the dirt, feeling her cheeks burn as tears streamed down her face. Her vision blurred and her throat closed off, sobs wracking her body, and she fell against the soil, hot and sweaty and bloody, and screamed in agony at the tearing inside. It was too much. Colin lay still beside her, his lips blue and his face pale, and Ginny threw herself on him, shaking him, and drew back- his chest was wet with blood. She pulled his eyelids up, the delicate, bluish skin peeling back to reveal fixed, glassy eyes, and she waved her wand over him desperately, hoping to find a pulse. Nothing.

Her heart seized up and with a roar she didn't know she possessed, she threw herself out from the dugout, sending a blinding mess of cutting hexes at the darkness before her. Screams went up around her and suddenly the fiery horse was racing towards her, pursuing the one who was attacking its master, and Ginny screamed in rage and threw curses at the man whose wand parried it closer. He fell in a spurt of red, and she directed her wand at Justin, blocking the curse about to sever him in half as a crowd of Death Eaters overcame the fighters beside him and began to strike down the wounded. Ginny sent off a reducto at the armor strewn on the ground and a gigantic swatch of dirt flew into the air before the Death Eaters, throwing them back. Justin stunned two and grabbed Ernie, who pulled a girl who couldn't have been older then thirteen into the dugout. Her wand streaking angry and fearful at the same time, Ginny threw her heart at the horse, wrapping the flames in themselves, channeling all her pain into a single purpose.

You are calming. Your work here is done. You will not race today again.

The fire sputtered and spun, and a piercing, high-pitched screech burst above her head as the horse circled its own flank, its hind quarters smoking into its head and slowly clearing. The flames fanned out and a red burst of light hit the ground like lightening, a bomb that shook the entire battle.

Ginny fell over, exhausted, and Bill scooped her up and pulled her into the hole.

"You need to find Remus," she chocked out, and Bill nodded, mouth set, and slid over the top of the dirt, easing into the battle once more. Ginny pulled out her burn potion and rubbed her cheeks, which screamed with pain, and then her lips. Skin peeled off her nose and floated away on the wind, and she applied another coat. A light flared beside her in the dark and Fleur pulled her down next to her.

"How's Charlie?" she yelled over the fight.

"He weel be fine, he is concussed," Fleur yelled back, and Ginny nodded and looked at her father, who had rejoined the fight alongside her mother. Molly Weasley twirled, shots of spells flying from her wand like glinting gold flax on the wind, and Ginny paused in her perusal of the various cuts she needed to heal to watch, amazed, as her mother fell flat to the ground to duck a shot and lost not a single second in firing back a nasty curse. Her Mum was aiming to maim.

Dragging herself up and trying not to shake, she pulled her arms over the mound and rolled up, taking out one of her Mum's opponents and directing a stunner at another.

She crawled on her knees into the next group of Hogwarts fighters, who had similarly dug a shelter to protect from the fire. Two scorced, blackened bodies lay in one side and she threw up for the second time that day, heaving dry coughs onto the ground. She turned to see Neville, a beaten Hannah, and five others, including Oliver and Yulang, sending rocks from the ground to levitate above a group of distant Death Eaters who were trying to blast the rocks back before they could knock them out. Ginny saw part of a man's skull tear off and ducked her head, rubbing her eyes to rid them of the image of red and yellow and white, white bone.

Neville grabbed her hand and pulled her down.

"I'm sorry, Gin, there was nothing we could do- Avada Kedava- I saw it, Dolohov did it- I couldn't do anything" he rambled, and Ginny looked down beside her.

_He would never know Dora had died._

Ginny's body shook and threatened to collapse. _Look away, don't let it be true- he's the only one Harry's got left- Little Teddy, all by himself- look away, he's not gone, he can't be- _

But like Dora before him, sleeping peacefully in a world eternal, Remus was gone, sailing beyond the battle in a cloud of white, and Ginny was back on the ground, surrounded by darkness and pale moonlight, the beams of spells that silenced cries surrounding her in fog and death. Her legs would not stop quivering as she hunched over in the mud, Neville and Hannah crying alongside her, the three of them mashed together in a shaking, jumbled hug, and Ginny felt their warmth at her sides as though she were in her body, but out of her mind. She hiccupped and then retched again, overcome by the picture of the man's hand flying off, dropping over his shoulder as her spell ripped through muscle and bone- and she sobbed, unable to stop the tears that streamed down and the energy wracking her body.

_They were gone. _


	47. Keeping Abreast of the Situation

47

Draco

_He'd almost died_. He'd bloody almost bit the dust. Unable to stop shaking, he pried his hands off the wooden slats where light was now flickering through beyond the darkness. It couldn't have been more than half an hour since the battle had commenced. _Why the bloody hell had he just risked his life to help POTTER of all people?_

The smell of burnt flesh assailed his nostrils and Draco pushed off, walking away from the weak spot at the window and down the stairs, limping as he clenched his mouth in pain. His leg was most definitely singed in a few places, only this burn wouldn't heal from the traditional spells. Giving up his efforts with a grunt of pain, he numbed the area as best he could and slipped down to sit in the stairwell, shuddered when a particularly large blast shook the castle.

_Crabbe was gone._ It felt like wax had surrounded his features and stuck them in an uncannily representation of a shocked Draco Malfoy- but Malfoys were never supposed to show excitement or surprise. Draco could no longer hold it in. He could not pretend that he and Crabbe had been close this year, but the thought that someone he'd grown up with, someone he'd eaten next to for seven long years every day was never going to eat again was mind-boggling. Almost as mind boggling as the fact that he had stayed behind as per _Longbottom's_ request, and had not only followed Crabbe and Goyle to make sure they weren't lying in wait in the castle, but had even let his interest in Potter's mission get in his way. He should have just stunned them when he had the chance, but somehow, he couldn't, even though he knew they would likely do much worse to him if they knew he had a feather from the Luna girl. _Father would . . . _actually, Draco shuddered, he wasn't so sure his own father wouldn't kill him if he endangered the family by joining Potter. _Could it get any worse?_

He inspected the bandages wrapped around his leg and strengthened the numbing charm, trying to ignore the burning sensation that had been creeping back again. He'd been curious to see where the Trio were going, forgetting that while he was content to merely follow and observe, his friends were bound to attack. Why Crabbe had thought to use Fiendfyre when he clearly had no clue how to do so was going to be something he would ponder for the rest of his days- because it went beyond the usual "stupid" of which Crabbe was capable.

Wondering if he should have stunned Goyle when he had the chance, he shook himself and then his wand went up with a shield instinctually as footsteps came down the stairs.

He was exceptionally glad he'd opted to disarm instead of actually cutting off their arm. Astoria Greengrass, her hair dripping with a bit of blood from a hefty gash over her right eye, had seemed to have the same idea about dropping out of the fight of Stupid, Noble Good People against the Dark Forces Aiming to Kill. Draco froze her and ran his wand over, but the blue light from her stayed blue; she was not polyjuiced.

"Sorry, had to be sure," he offered, extending his hand as he unfroze her and offering her the seat below, where he could shield her back as she sat. She rolled her eyes and suddenly Draco was plastered to the stairs, frozen, as she did the same to him. If he could have blushed, he would_- why was it that the strangest things- being held down by a bird- did this to him?_ Her small hands brushed through his robes, searching for weapons, and then she sat down and unfroze him.

"I had to be sure too," she smirked, and Draco nodded and grunted. Nice, very smooth, he scoffed himself. She was bloody gorgeous, had always been.

"Have you seen Daphne?" she asked quietly, bandaging her head, and Draco offered his hand to help, which she refused, before answering.

"She left with the others," he admitted unhappily, and Astoria's face fell.

"Well, at least she's safe- Mum and Dad will be so pleased to have their eldest carry on the line alone," she scoffed, and Draco bit his lip, wondering if she wanted consolation. His mouth decided for him, and silence fell.

"So why are you hiding?" she asked, and Draco started. "I'm NOT," he began, but she waved his indignation away. "Don't give me that, Malfoy, might work for Daddy but I'm a bit better at reading cowards," she sneered, And Draco felt his hackles raise at the thought of ANY witch thinking him a coward.

"I just escaped FIENDFYRE, thank you very much, and I can't heal my leg," he shot back, uncovering some of the wound and enjoying her reaction.

She reached into her shirt and Draco leaned forward as the castle shook again. At least if he died today, he'd get one last sight of . . . Astoria swatted him and pulled out a vial of green liquid that she slowly uncorked and daintily tipped three droplets onto his leg from above. Smoke filled the room and his leg burned horribly, and Draco gritted his teeth and grunted, trying not to call out in front of her. When the fog cleared his leg was whole and raw-looking, but decidedly better, and he rubbed on the burn cream she offered him with a sigh of relief.

"You know you're going to have to do that every night from now on, right?" she asked, and Draco locked eyes with her.

"I'm well aware of the complications with Fiendfyre, yes. Bellatrix used to cast it to intimidate, I scorched my fingertips once when she got carried away- I've been soaking them nightly since," he threw back stiffly.

"Your aunt is a nutcase," she whispered beside him, lighting her wand and holding it higher to re-bandage the leg. Draco winced as she tied the white strips over the sensitive flesh. He didn't deign to respond.

"We shouldn't just sit here, we're targets- I don't even know how to signify that I'm with the DA to the rest of the fighters, my green mask isn't going to work for the people who just joined us today," she fretted, and Draco grimaced. Ron Weasley had saved his life tonight, Potter had done so as well- and now, he was about to do the last thing he'd ever thought likely to survive.

"Let's try a more amiable set of colors- just please, not the bloody scarlet," he offered. The blue mask twirled in the air and he fitted it over her face, trying to tie it. Astoria batted his hand away and yanked her curls up, tying them off in a pretty knot, before securing the mask with her wand. Draco looked over her, admiring the effect. She smirked, and he felt his stomach churn.

"Plenty of time for that later, Draco," she whispered, dragging him out of the stairway. "Now let's focus on not getting killed."


	48. Lone Wolf

48

Neville

He charged into the smog, panic overcoming him as his eyes desperately sought his quarry. Hannah had screamed, he was sure, and it was a long, drawn out scream, horribly pain-stricken, and Neville felt like his heart would literally explode if he didn't set eyes on her this very second. He struggled to push aside the mounting anxiety attack as he ran through the muggy air, his feet pounding on the scorched, sodden grass. McGonagall passed him, attacking Bella, and Neville's wand was drawn to the black haired witch, who dueled Tonks as well. Flashes of spells as fast as lightening bolts shot from one woman to another, each of them concentrated and ready to kill, and Tonks was injured and trying to use her left hand while her right was bleeding profusely. Neville stepped beside her, casting a shield, and yelled for her to heal her arm.

"I can't, my aim is too shaky!" she cried, and Neville sent a rebounding hex at Bellatrix, forcing all her spells for the next five seconds to bounce back to her. Raking up the sleeve, he ran his wand thrice over the seeping wound and then as the skin closed up he cast another shield. Tonks pulled him down as his shield broke under a flurry of green killing curses.

"SHE'S OUT FOR BLOOD, THOSE WON'T DO A SODDING THING!" Tonks screamed at him, and then Neville's body went rigid with fear as he heard Hannah scream again. Scrambling up from the red hot Earth he plunged into the crowd, knocking an assailant out of his way with his fist and sending another forty feet back with a repelling jinx that normally would have made him stop to admire it.

"HANNAH!" he screamed, hoping and yet fearing a reply. "HANNAH WHERE ARE YOU?"

He heard another scream and Ernie appeared out of nowhere and grabbed him.

"GET OVER HERE, IT'S BAD, SHE'S PINNED DOWN AND DOLOHOV IS BACK THERE!"

Neville ran beside him and could see Hannah, Seamus, and Lavender all hunkered down in one of the ditches that had been dug as the Death Eaters advanced their fires. The three were trying to shoot down sixteen attackers who were steadily coming up beside the ditch to enter, and Neville ran, pulling out of Ernie's grasp and ignoring his yells.

"GET AWAY FROM HER!" he screamed, sending deep cutting hexes at the front man, who fell over, his leg severed and blood gushing from the deep wound. Neville sent a blood boiling hex at the next man and a blinding hex at the third, and rolled to the sound of their screams, dodging two stunners and an Avada Kedavra that left a gouge in the dirt where he'd been. His body hit the edge of the ditch and he tumbled over and righted himself, grabbing Hannah to pull her down out of the way of a spell. The orange light hit the dirt behind her and sent a bathtub sized volume flying into the air. Neville wiped off his face with his sleeve and leaned on the side of the ditch, nodding at Seamus.

"GO!" he screamed, and Seamus stood with him and grabbed his elbow. The two fired off stunners, opposing hands aloft in the air, and suddenly, the metallic sheen of their double shield expanded, covering them both. Nev heard cries of anger around him as he fired nasty burning hexes at the center, and Seamus was using a curse he'd never seen before to make their arms and legs switch places, sending several to the ground with earth-shattering screams. A killing curse came within inches of Hannah's head and she ducked, but Neville saw red; with a roar he took off the wand arm of the man who'd sent it, and then blocked a curse that would have shattered their shield with it's power. He disarmed a fourth, accio'ing his wand and snapping it in half, and threw stunners out as Seamus dueled a tall figure who was throwing crucio's at the girls, who had been attempting to conjure their own shield while dueling. Neville brushed Seamus backwards towards them and the boys each took a single step at the same time, so that they both had contact with the ground continuously. It was a new skill they'd been working on, and now, it was saving their lives. Shouts erupted around them as the gold dome encircled the girls, who shot up and began firing angry curses and disarming the opponents around them.

Neville looked up in time to see Remus, who had been dueling Dolohov, take a nasty cutting hex that sliced up his shoulder.

"REMUS! GET OVER HERE, WE'LL COVER YOU!" he yelled. Remus nodded but didn't look up. His wand flew, sending curse after jinx at the dancing Dolohov, who swept his wand wide as a huge swatch of dirt snaked around his opponent and began to rise up around him. Remus growled, freezing the advance, and sent a killing curse at his opponent. Neville's eyes went wide but he focused back to his own attackers, who had been cut in half in numbers but seemed to be replaced by newer, less agile followers. These less advanced Death Eaters were making classic mistakes, and Neville wondered briefly as he disarmed one with ease whether or not their hearts were really in the fight. He snapped a bunch of wands he'd summoned and bound the twenty they'd captured so far, stunning them and accio'ing the bodies to fall behind them in the ditch. He didn't want them revived.

Hannah was leveling the playing field, taking out attackers left and right, and the four of them stood still for a moment as Remus took another curse and howled with pain. The smoke cleared and they could see him, encircled in flashes of light, fighting Dolohov and two others, his wand whipping and his face angry.

"HE'S TIRING, WE NEED TO GET TO HIM!" Hannah yelled, and the others each lifted a foot with her and began to work, four figures moving in sync, across the field, parrying curses and shooting stunners. "ERNIE, MAKE SURE NO ONE GETS TO THESE!" Neville commanded, and Susan and the other three behind in the pit formed their own shield to stand guard.

Remus cried out and Neville whipped his head around.

"WE'RE ALMOST THERE REMUS! JUST HOLD ON!" Hannah screamed, and they picked up their pace, careful to step over bodies that littered the ground. If they tripped, the shield would fall. Neville sent a round of stunners in a star formation at Dolohov, who laughed and sent an Avada Kedavra at their shield, bursting the protective bubble.

Neville grasped Hannah's hand and their shield went up again, but Dolohov popped it with ease.

"LOVE DOESN'T WORK FOR EVERYTHING, MUDBLOODS!" He sneered. "You will bow to my master soon!"

"WORKED FOR ME AND MINE!" Neville yelled, crouching low and rolling when Dolohov sent a third green curse. Neville had noticed that the man couldn't move quickly after these; he'd expended too much concentration. Waiting until the man sent another at Hannah, who ducked easily, he sent an angry burning hex straight for his face, then a series of stunners. Dolohov roared as his face turned dark with burns, blocking the stunners and parrying Remus' curses with a silver shield. Neville threw himself into the fight, trying to get the upper edge, but the man's wand slashed and he was hit with a deep cutting hex that spurted blood out from his thigh. Hannah screamed and their shield faltered once more as she tried to heal his cut.

"LEAVE IT, YOU'RE OUT IN THE OPEN!" he gritted, and Hannah turned back and dodged a green curse that came within an inch of her ear. Neville shouted things his Gran would have murdered him for and sent banishing curses at the Death Eater who was covering Dolohov's back as he dueled Remus. Dolohov's smile went wide and Neville felt his blood freeze as Remus fell over, panting, trying to conjure a shield.

"REMUS!" He yelled, running over. Seamus was dueling three with Lavender, who was disarming opponents left and right and making their shirt sleeves grow to cover their arms. Seamus laughed as Lavender's jinx caused one man to rip his shirt off to avoid it strangling him, and others were similarly fighting rogue underwear or biting pockets. Neville spared a second, wanting to laugh as Seamus did a glamour charm on the head attacker, who suddenly looked just like Harry and was instantly snuffed out by four of his fellows.

A woman screamed over the battle, horrible and keening, and Remus fell over and then threw himself up.

"DORA!" he yelled, his back turning to the battle, and his eyes went wild. A green light shot out, almost invisible in the ruckus, and Neville watched as it collided with his arm. Remus turned just slightly, his eyes drifting down in shock, and then his body collapsed, tumbling over into the dirt.

"NO!" Neville screamed, and cries erupted as he thrashed the others with his wand to get to Remus. "YOU'RE NOT DEAD, YOU CAN'T DIE! TEDDY NEEDS YOU!" he yelled, grabbing his comrade's body and hefting him back to the ditch. He dropped his wand at the edge of the ditch and then ran forward like a bull, tackling an oncoming Death Eater into the dirt.

"YOU SODDING FUCK! YOU KILLED HIM!" He screamed, and Hannah was beside him. Her soft hands pulled him back from continuing to punch and her livid eyes met his and he saw knowing in them.

"It was Dolohov." She spat, and then Neville watched, wide eyed, as Theodore Nott scrambled into the ditch and put wand level with the man's throat.

The man's body soared up into the air. He writhed there for a moment, held up by an invisible noose, and then went slack. Neville looked at Hannah, who was shocked. Theo Nott was fighting on their side?

"I recognized him. That one was at the Valentine's Day battle; he was helping Bella torture us," Hannah said, gesturing to the dead man swinging above them. Theo was crouched before the Death Eaters Neville had bound, and when he turned to leave the pit, Neville could see scarlet trails of blood running down from their necks. Their eyes were slowly glazing over. He looked away.

Neville sat down hard next to Remus. Hannah had already confirmed it; he was gone. Smoke poured from the top of the ditch and Neville sent up a shield to cover Susan, Ernie, Seamus and Lavender, who had all joined them. Hannah unwrapped a tiny jar and expanded it, offering some of the paste to Seamus and Lavender and smearing some on her own burns. She picked out a scoop and rubbed it into Nev's face as he tried not to look at Remus. Seamus gently bent to crouch on his legs and turned Remus over, closing his eyes and brushing dirt off his face.

"He's not the first or the last, Neville," Hannah whispered softly as she kissed his tear-streaked cheeks.


	49. Before the Plunge

49

Tom

His followers went silent, and he tensed, seeing the boy stand there, not even shaking. Did the boy know something which he did not? Curious, he did not seem to fear the inevitable. Tom smiled, curved lips sliding over slimy teeth, relishing the anticipation that was papable in the air amongst his worshippers. His legions formed a throng, closing in on his prey, and Tom licked his lips, cocking his head to the side. Surely, the boy was merely tired of their fight, tired of running from his too powerful foe . . . pity, he would have made an excellent recruit- there was power, oh yes, bravery- and his blood was not pure, but then, neither had Severus' been . . . it was a shame, but the boy must go- and at last, he would be free, no one could reach him. The boy would be gone, and he would be all powerful, invincible- the sirens would sing his glories, the wizarding world would know of this defeat come sun rise . . . a simple flick was all that stood in his way. He locked eyes with the boy, noting that he was not scrawny in death as the others had been before they were exterminated. The boy seemed calm, even- ready to meet his death at the hands of Lord Voldemort. He smiled and his wand twitched, just barely, his lips breaking to speak the curse he'd used more times than he could ever recollect . . .

Pain enveloped him, stunning him from his mind, and before he could scream, he was thrust out again. His mind clouded, grey edging the scene before him, and he floated, as spirit, invisible to all, unable to move, wasting away above the crowd. His followers, dark outlines against the paling sky, huddled closer, but unlike his years as specter, in this form, he could not move nor speak. He screamed in agony, silenced by the gods above, and thrashed his soul against the invisible constrictions. Why could he not join them below? Why was he stuck up here, watching the silence? He looked down, trying to find a suitable body to inhabit, but he could not reach out to possess them. What was he? Panicking, he shook himself, trying to readjust to no longer having a body. It was a queer experience, one he loathed for the powerlessness it granted. Tom's vision went in and out, and he looked down at his own body, which had fallen over upon his collapse. Then he realized his followers were not moving, nor did they make any noise- it seemed time had stopped. Tom's panic doubled as he realized he might be stuck in the moment, caught between death and afterlife for all eternity. Why had his horcrux failed? The boy had destroyed his precious treasures, all but his pet and the one Tom was sure none could find, the treasure he had placed in Hogwarts himself, hidden in the room that no one else knew. It was perfect for hiding his treasure; obscure, like the diary, innocent looking- a treasure hidden in his own treasure, his desire for life eternal wrapped inside the perfect keeper, the wisdom of Ravenclaw. With her wit and his own Salazar's cunning, he would reign over all those who would seek to throw him from his rightful place.

Suddenly he felt pressure, intense pain overcame him, and he found he could gasp for breath. His blood tingled and he could feel the sensation of the ground below him, his eyes opened, cloudy, but clearing, and he looked up to see hesitant faces, their eyes all asking the same question. The oaf sobbed in the background, his figure shaking amonst the other subdued, still outlines.

"I do not need your services, Bella," he snapped at the witch's proffered hand. Righting himself with controlled poise, his eyes surveyed the crowd, letting his anger grow to flame out, cutting their curiosity. His mind flew, jabbing into theirs to draw out disloyalty, and he saw them shrink back once more, some faltering. There were new recruits here, not many, and he grimaced in displeasure once more as he considered just how many of his followers had fallen. He did not need those who could not take down mere school children, though the bratty Order had made a mess of his inner circle. Dolohov was bleeding. Enraged that the pure bloods could have allowed his new followers to make a mockery of him, he vowed to teach them a lesson, once this battle was done and he'd dealt with the brats inside his school. It had been so long since he'd gotten to break fresh, young ones. The boys here were used to the dark arts, had grown up proper purebloods; they were not so easily broken.

His eyes fell on the boy's crumpled form. With a bang he sent the Malfoy wench to check on him. What if the boy had not been killed? Could Potter be blocked somehow from the curse? How had he survived as a baby? He watched with smoldering eyes as the woman bent low, feeling for a pulse, and then lifted back hair and leaned over, checking for breath. A moment passed as his followers held their breath, and he stopped his pacing, eying her expectanctly.

"He is dead," she reported, and Tom felt a swoop of joy break free inside. He rejoiced, sending the broken body flying through the air, watching with glee as his followers praised him. The oaf by the oaks sobbed harder, snorting down snot, and Tom shuddered at the interruption to his enjoyment.

Yes, he would do nicely. Ordering his men to pull the half-giant up, he commanded the to move, the giant carrying his little friend to see the others, and Tom was exultant, filled with terrible, righteous joy. They tromped through the forest, flames shooting up in their wake, and crossed the grounds, their cries of victory bringing out heads that popped from the protection of the castle doors and walls. Eyes lifted over the deep ditches gouged in the earth, smoking still, and Voldemort saw with distaste that his home had been deeply scarred by the battle. He would rebuild it anew, with a dedication to his great ancestor; finally, the chance to give Slytherin the greatness he deserved. Envisioning the young Death Eaters who would one day gaze upon his likeness in the marble bust in the Great Hall, he sneered as the old crone cried out in pain, screaming, and Bella joined him, laughing at McGongall crossing the grounds.

"NO!" "NO!" NO! HARRY!" came cries as more joined her, and Tom held himself higher, his eyes taking in the sorrow and the rending, tearing pain in their eyes, their screams a blissful hymn to his conquest. He relished the girl, the redhead standing beside her broken, fury-filled brother, and wondered how she would break when her brother attacked and was swept off the Earth. Her eyes were wild; she had yet to comprehend. Ah, it was delicious.

"Set him down at my feet, Hagrid, where he belongs!" he cried, and several young men began to charge forward.

"SILENCE!" he commanded, stopping the insolent cries and the growing screams with a flick of his wand. He set forth his victory speech, watching their faces turn to hatred and sobs with delight, waiting for the moment when the little ones would begin to scream for his mercy.

"HE BEAT YOU!" her brother screamed, two older redheads and a young girl holding him back.

"HE WAS KILLED WHILE TRYING TO ESCAPE!" he began, the words flowing like honey from his tongue, loving his power as he silenced the throng of idiots again.

Suddenly a young man burst forth, tumbling past his shield, and Tom was taken aback for a split second before he disarmed the fool.

It seemed the boy did not want to join him. Tom offered his life back, but the fool was ready to die, wanting to become their martyr . . . fine, he could join Potter if he wanted . . . it was one less bumbling Order member for him to kill later . . .

The hat soared out to him and he placed it on the boy's head, petrifying him, and with a flick, the boy was afire. Tom's eyes went wide as the boy ripped his body through the air, a young girl streaking out to attack him in the Longbottom boy's place, and the boy drew something long . . . something impossible- from the air below the hat, silver flashed- and his beloved Nagini reared, poising to strike . . .


	50. Alive

50

Hannah

Her head whipped around as the sword sliced through the air, lethal and shining, and blood spatter hit her cheek with a hissing of burning flesh. Her wand twirled, sending curses at Voldemort, and he parried them with a single swipe and she was thrown back twenty feet into a Death Eater.

Arrows rent the air, zipping down to stick in arms and necks and blood and screams covered the air, thick as the smoke that had cleared. Hannah curled into a ball on the floor, trying to avoid the deadly spikes raining down, and felt herself being dragged up by her hair. She screamed and kicked, connecting with her attacker, and Luna jumped next to her, graceful and furious, sailing as though riding the wind, sent the man back to the ground with an airborne kick to his face. Her wand flicked angrily over him, and swooped in a circle, sending four others onto their backs, where a Devil's Snare plant began reeling them into its coils. Screams filled her mind and she covered her ears, looking for a wand, but another grabbed her from behind and bent her down. She struggled, feeling a wand tip pressing into her back.

"HANNAH!" Neville cried out, and she flew out of the man's hands again, a green spell hitting him where she had been seconds before. Neville caught her around the waist as she soared towards him and handed her a wand, grabbing her free hand.

"LET'S FINISH IT!" he screamed. "IT'S GOT TO BE ME! I JUST KNOW IT!"

Hannah threw curses left and right, and suddenly, the doors had opened, and the Hogwarts house elves were practically flying out from the Great Hall, cleavers and meat tenderizers and chopping knives blazing next to their faces as they screamed tinny, shrill battle cries. She saw Yaxley and Dolohov go down their knives, saw the others around her, their faces shining with sweat and deadly anger, sending flashing curses. Heat curled up, pluming from the floor- green light was dancing around her, rebounding off the walls, glass shattered behind her and she twirled, trying to find Neville, and Ginny was running past, her hair flying, and she was snarling like Hannah had never seen. Hannah sent a trip jinx at Rookwood as Percy Weasley dueled him, and Arthur and Bill were dueling a persistent Dolohov, who sent killing curses at their feet, making them dodge in between sending their own.

Hannah watched Luna shoot past, her eyes wide and furious, and join in the fight between Ginny and Bella.

"TOGETHER!" Hermione screamed from beside her, joining next to Luna and sending a spell at the ceiling that caused chunks of rocks to rocket towards Bellatrix. The three girls ducked and wove, avoiding the green flashes of deadly light, and Ginny looked ready to kill as she screamed a decapitation hex, blasting reductos in its wake. Hannah was pushed to the side as a blur of red hair went flying past once more, her own curse at Dolohov skewed by the woman barreling past, and then suddenly, Luna and Hermione were holding Ginny back beside her, and the room had erupted into more yells as Molly Weasey dueled to the death. Bellatrix sent spells cracking like whips, flames with hot tongues, and the floor trembled as the volley of spells increased, shaking the building when they hit the walls. The crowd had thinned, bodies of Death Eaters lined the floors; Neville was fighting his way toward Voldemort, crying curses as McGongall, Flitwick, and Slughorn dueled him, and then the crowd erupted in victory chants as Bellatrix fell, the hordes of angry house elves racing to her body, and Voldemort's fury exploded. Hannah sent up a shield, trying to cover the girls, who were now being dragged forward by a sobbing, swearing Ginny, her hair in her mouth as she spat out curses, and she went stiff as a single voice screamed, "PROTEGO!"

"OH GODRIC!" She heard Ginny scream beside her, shaking, and Hermione had almost fainted beside them. Hannah pulled her up, sending healing charms at her many cuts and an envigoration charm to her head, but Luna pulled her back.

"Harry's back to the fight," she said quietly, and Hannah's jaw dropped as she saw the unmistakeable face of her classmate, hunched and intense, begin to circle Voldemort.

"I DON'T WANT ANYONE ELSE TO FIGHT. IT'S GOT TO BE ME," Harry was yelling for the whole great hall to hear.

"BUT HOW?" she began, and suddenly Neville was beside her, holding her hand in a vice grip.

"If he can't, be ready . . . I'll need you to cover me, I'm going in with the sword," he whispered, showing her the ruby handle, and the girls looked at him and nodded, walking with him to the forefront of the crowd. The people parted, and Hannah could see only her own and Voldemort, cornered and deadly, and her stomach turned. Silence fell, and Ginny pressed to the front of the crowd, standing by with them, ready to take out the man who had stolen so much from them all.

But the lion and the snake were circling, talking quietly, and the echoes of their conversation reached her ears in fragments,

" . . . believe you have a weapon more powerful . . ."

" . . . WHAT'S THIS? . . . I got there first, little boy . . ."

"Snape beat . . . wand's last owner . . ."

"The new owner of the wand was Draco Malfoy," Harry's voice called out, and whispers spread as the crowd tried to follow what they were arguing. The Great Hall had begun to shine, light from the sunrise trickling in as the blood red sun hit the horizon. The people held their breath as one, transfixed by the slow, deadly dance they watched before them.

"So it all comes down to this, doesn't it? Does the wand in your hand know it's last master was disarmed? Because if it does, then I am the true master of the Elder Wand," Harry whispered, and as the sun struck, you could have heard the sizzle of the grass on the grounds.

"AVADA KEDAVRA!"

"EXPELLIARMOS!"

Silence blanketed their fuzzy minds for but seconds as all the world stood still, eyes fixed on the body slumping to the ground like melting butter. Harry's eyes settled on body and looked up, slow, and the silence shattered.

Neville crushed her to him, the sword clattering to the floor, and lifted her off the ground. Shock rang in her ears and she watched between kissing him hard as Ginny, Hermione, and Ron raced to smash into Harry, and the crowd jostled around them, petting him, hands reaching out to touch the hero, screams and cries of jubilant victory cutting the air around them. Neville's hands gripped her tight, pulling out her breath, and she tugged at him and he released her, gasping for breath.

"WE WON!" He screamed hoarsely, coughing, and she grabbed his middle and jumped up and down, tears falling down her cheeks, overcome with relief. "DANCE, NEVILLE! WE'RE ALIVE!" She yelled back, and he threw back his head and laugh, jumping beside her and reaching down to hook his arms under her bum. She shrieked as he lifted her, throwing her up into the air, and caught her, holding her against his chest pumping his other fist into the air. Sparks flew up and everywhere, patronuses were flying, hopping, slithering, running- racing out the doors, between windows, through the walls- and the crowd was crying, yelling, hugging, joyous faces beaming with tears and kissing one another; a rabbit hopped past, shooting from Luna's wand, and a turtle began to crawl beside her, faster than any turtle should ever plod. A fleet of horses, deer, gazelle, wildebeast, tigers, bumbling bears, sleek cats and wolves and trilling birds was surrounding her as the patronuses attempted to escape the Great Hall. Seamus' raccoon was scurrying past and an ostrich was zipping between celebrating onlookers with sturdy feet. Hannah concentrated for a moment and conjured her own badger to send to her father, then looked at Neville in shock as a female German Sheppard barked beside her. Neville dropped her suddenly and she fell into the crowd, knocking Luna down.

"OH! Sorry Luna!" she offered, but Luna just pulled her into a tight hug and grinned.

"Hannah Banana . . ." Neville said softly in her ear, and she turned, seeing his shocked look.

She smiled at her new protector.

"Tell Daddy I'm safe and the war is over. Voldemort is dead. I'll be home soon to visit. It's safe," she said, tears welling up over her cheeks and sliding down as Neville looked at her in awe, his shock fading to an impressive blush.

"D'you really . . . ?" he trailed off, seeing his own German Sheppard, conjured for St. Mungoes, playing with hers.

Hannah nestled her head on his chest and felt her happy tears leak into his shirt. Neville wrapped his arms around her.

"We're alive," he whispered fiercely.


	51. Towels Two Sizes Too Small

Don't worry, dears- as promised, I go beyond Harry: "I think I want a sandwich!" We've got a significant number of chapters left before I feel this story is complete . . . and THEN, I shall begin my next fanfic, which I have three different and competing ideas for, and I will post to see which one garners the most interest later . . . for now, enjoy

Cheers

Jenna

* * *

51

Ron

His shoulders cracked as he rolled his arms backward, trying to stretch out the many kinks and pains in his back. Mione patted his back and hugged him to her, and his eyes widened as he realized that they both stank. He was definitely more putrid, but if she'd noticed, she didn't comment. Harry slumped out of the Headmaster's room, looking exhausted and relieved at the same time, and Ron knew exactly how he felt.

"So, food, then sleep?" he offered, and Hermione giggled as his stomach growled. Ron's stomach answered Harry's, and the three looked at one another before breaking into laughter. Ron's throat felt raw and the laughter hurt, so he stopped as soon as he could. Hermione wrapped a thin arm around his middle and they walked down the Great Hall, noting that Harry had turned and was slowly going up to Gryffindor tower. Looking at Hermione's sad, watchful eyes that lingered on Harry and then his sister, something clicked in place.

"OI! D'you want me to tell Ginny where you're staying?" he hollered, and Harry turned around, surprised, and shrugged.

"Yeah, but she doesn't have to come if she doesn't want to; I kind of need to sleep before I can handle . . . anything else," he finished lamely, looking at Ginny, who was sitting with her head on their mother's shoulder, the both of them shedding silent tears.

"Yeah, she's gonna be ready to kill you or shag you I figure," Ron replied wryly, noting Harry's longing glance. Harry looked at him in shock and Hermione gaped at him.

"What? She is moody, after all," Ron said, and then he proceeded into the Great Hall, leaving his surprised companions in his wake.

The tempting smell of buttery rolls and beef wafted towards him as the house elves had already set up a victory feast of sorts, though it was certainly not the usual end-of-year celebration. Families were lining the tables, some weeping; others comforting friends, and Ron's heart sank out of his body as his eyes rested on his brother lying on the table, covered by George's shaking head and arms. Percy sat next to him, whey-faced and tight-lipped, and Charlie had finally come out of his dazed state and was gripping Bill tightly, who was crying softly against Fleur's chest. The family had huddled around the body, his father the only one still standing, as though he knew he would collapse the moment he sat.

Mione seemed to sense him fading next to her, tears beginning to gleam in her eyes as well as she looked at his pained face.

"Let's get some food in you, Ron, you need to eat," she urged softly, even though he no longer felt like it. They sat at the table next to his family and Hermione put herself between Fred and him, which he was thankful for. A house elf came by, setting more baked potatoes on the table, and Ron grabbed two and filled a plate for them, cutting up the potato into bits and covering it with gravy and cheese. It was a mark of how devastatingly tired and sore they both were that Hermione did not tut at him for loading up his plate with heavy, fatty foods. Beef brisket and an entire side of ribs followed, and she didn't even roll her eyes.

Ron filled his mouth with green bean casserole, extremely glad that even in his current state, he could appreciate good cooking. Trying to brush aside the feeling that it was somehow wrong to en joy a good roast with Fred dead, he shoved a big bite into his craw, his lips chomping up and down, and Ginny let out a tiny sigh from beside him as she sat down and pulled a plate over. Ron filled up a glass of milk for her and smiled when Hermione murmured how thoughtful he was, and Ginny rolled her eyes.

"How's the ribs?" she asked low, looking utterly exhausted. Ron noted the streaks of damp, sore skin on her cheeks and brushed his own . . . they, too, were sore and red from crying earlier. Hermione had pushed him into the corridor to stop him from going after the people who had caused Fred's death, and though he was secretly glad now that he hadn't been able to kill anyone in his pained rage, he still felt the effects of wishing, in that moment, that he could rip apart any Death Eater that crossed his path.

Hermione sniffled beside him and he wrapped an arm around her. She was looking down the table at George, who was sobbing once more, loud cries muffled by the sweater Fred had been wearing. Ron gruffly cleared his throat, trying to hold back his own sobs that were threatening to come up. Ginny looked closely at his arm and then at Hermione, who met her eyes and nodded.

"Oh, I'm so happy for you!" Ginny smiled, her lips cracking painfully. Hermione shushed her with a small smile on her face, nonetheless. Ron looked bewildered from one girl to the next, and Ginny eyed him and then shook her head, exasperated.

"I'm telling her I'm happy you finally asked her out," Ginny explained, and Ron shrugged.

"I didn't really, she just kind of threw herself at me," he said, thinking back happily to their kiss, and Hermione huffed angrily next to him. His ears seemed to pick up on his own impending doom and he backtracked quickly.

"I mean, I would have, I still will- it's just the battle was going on, and we couldn't wait . . . romantic really, don't you think?" he asked Ginny, desperate for her to agree, and she laughed and started shaking as Hermione looked at him, trying to hold in her own suppressed giggles at his fumbling.

"Oh, sod it, you know I love you, Mione, let's just go upstairs," he moaned, his ears going red, and Ginny stopped laughing as Hermione turned surprised eyes at him. Ron realized what he'd said.

Hermione's eyes were round as saucers and Ginny had dropped her fork.

Silence fell over the table.

"Ron?" Hermione whimpered, looking at him in awe mixed with shock. "You really love me?" she asked, and Ginny went still, watching him like a hawk.

Ron rubbed his head, trying to cover his ears or his hair; he didn't know which one was redder.

"Yes, I do, I just . . ." he started, but Hermione shushed him with a soft kiss, cutting him off.

She was warm and soft, her lips caressing his like velvet, and he shuddered when her tongue just barely licked his bottom lip. He ran his hand up in her glorious hair, mangling her mane, and kissed her fervently; wanting to tell her everything he couldn't say with this kiss. It was different than their first one, gentle, more tender, and he felt her smile against him and open her mouth, deepening it.

"EWW, c'mon, I don't think when he said 'let's just go upstairs' that he meant that, Hermione!" Ginny's voice protested, and Ron slapped her with his free hand without looking up from his activity. Hermione pulled back, gasping in a breath, and he felt her breath out on his neck, sending chills up his spine.

"I do want to sleep," she said softly, looking up at him. "And I need to change and shower," she observed, wrinkling her nose. Ginny laughed and watched them leave, looking down the table with a sigh. Ron watched her and then pulled over the table, leaning low to speak to just his sister.

"Harry's upstairs, he's going to sleep- he's been up over a day, Gin, he needs to get some rest before he can see anyone," he offered, "but he wanted you to know he wants to see you, if you want to," and Ginny looked up, real appreciation in her eyes, and nodded.

"Thanks Ron," she said quietly, looking forlornly up the table at George, who had crumpled onto the floor as Fred's body was moved. The Aurors and mediworkers had arrived an hour ago, and Kingsley was directing a massive cleanup and organization of the dead. Fred would be resting in the corridor near the charms room so his body could be washed later and prepared. Ron nodded to his father and stopped, looking at Hermione who was waiting at the entrance.

"We're going to get some sleep, Dad. Is there anything I can do?" he questioned, looking down at his mother, who had quieted to silent grief. His father turned tired, weary eyes on him and shook his head.

"No, son, you've done enough; I'm proud of you," he said quietly, and Ron flushed and then moved up to see Mione.

The two began to climb the stairs until Hermione rushed back down for the second time to charm something for a House elf passing by, who grew disgruntled when she tried to talk him into accepting her sock. Ron laughed at her frustrated glare, "Well, that is a pretty hideous sock, Mione," to which she threw it at him. The resulting mock fight ended with an unsteady, weaker-than-usual Hermione falling down three stairs and twisting her ankle. Ron looked down at her, exasperated, her hair poofing up as she tried to calm it with her hands, and gripped her under her legs and behind her back, lifting her up. She let out a quiet "oh!" of surprise and then wrapped her arms around his neck. She felt so light- too light, he figured, and he made a mental note to keep piling her plate up for her.

He walked up the steps, slowly carrying her up and trying to ignore the pain in his legs as he neared Gryffindor tower. To his surprise, Kreacher stood outside the painting, rather than the Fat Lady, whom they had seen celebrating with her friend Violet in the Great Hall. Kreacher bowed low to them as he set Hermione down.

"Master is sleeping upstairs. He is tired and must not be waked," Kreacher warned, and the two of them nodded. Hermione pulled him to the girl's stairs and ignored his protests, waving her wand in a wide loop and then a complex figure-eight.

"Mione, I can't get up there!" he cried, but she shoved him forward up to the first stair, and he took a tentative step, opening his eyes wide when he wasn't ejected immediately. The stairs were still.

"Whha?" he gaped, and Hermione grinned a secretive, very sexy smile.

"I figured out how they worked back in fifth year," she smiled, tugging him up with a giggle. Ron's ears went red at the thought of how many times he'd have loved to know that little gem of a spell back in fifth year . . . bloody hell; she was pulling him up to the girls' side!

"I don't want to bother Harry. How about we get cleaned up?" she asked, and Ron nodded, trying to shake off the punch-drunk feeling that was overcoming him. Something told him that he would feel deep pain tomorrow when Fred's death really hit him, but for now, if she wanted him to forget about it . . . well, he could be persuaded.

Hermione tugged him into the girls' shower, which was the cleanest bathroom Ron had ever seen, despite the fact that the castle had recently been attacked. Hermione called Kreacher tentatively and he popped up beside them, causing her to shriek and Ron to draw his wand. Kreacher cowered, holding his hands over his face, and for the second time in his life, Ron felt a bit of horror pass through him. Harry had done that once. Harry must have been hit, too- just as Kreacher was shielding himself now, Harry had done before when being yelled at. White hot anger surged through him and he shook his head as Hermione calmed Kreacher and asked him to get them some robes and things. Kreacher sped off and Ron remembered Harry.

"Kreacher, who'll guard Harry while you're gone?" he asked, but Kreacher shook his head.

"Mistress will not let anyone bother him," he said cryptically, and then he disappeared.

Ron stepped into the shower stall and dropped his filthy clothes to the floor, letting out a breath he hadn't known he was holding as he heard Hermione do the same in the stall next to him. He turned on the water, trying not to think about the fact that she was naked next to him, just a wall away. The hours he'd spent trying to cast a penetrable charm on the wall between the gents and ladies quidditch changing rooms had never been even a fraction this exciting. Mione, wet and soapy, on the other side of this wall . . . he gripped the shower rod and shook his head, and began to soap up his hair, wincing as his many cuts stung. He turned off the water, hearing her do the same, and let out a groan when he realized there wasn't a towel.

"Mione, where are the towels?" he asked, and she giggled in a very unHermone way before he rolled his eyes, forgetting she couldn't see him

"Are you a wizard or not?" she teased, and he grabbed his wand and conjured the biggest towel he could. Looking down at his attempt, he sighed.

"D'you think you could make me one?" he asked, drying off his arms and chest and wrapping it around his waist before stepping out to the bathroom.

"Why, can't do it yourself?" her voice teased as she walked out to the bathroom, and whatever taunt she had been about to follow with died as they looked at one another. Ron watched her eyes drift down his chest and felt a smirk growing on his lips. He cocked an eyebrow at her, smiling, and Hermione looked up at his face and reddened.

"Yes, well, it might be better if you had something a bit less . . ." she began,

"Mione, a bit less towel would be better for you, maybe, you seem to enjoying the show," he smirked, and she hit him and flushed if possible even darker.

"I meant a bit less revealing, you prat," she cut in, shaking water out of her hair and smiling as his eyes raked over her in her towel, which was long enough to reach just above her knees, but still showed an awful lot more Hermione than he was used to seeing with her t-shirts.

Ron felt his ears begin to redden at the tension growing between them. He watched a single droplet of water clinging beneath her ear slide down and he leaned over as she raised her wand, conjuring a big, fluffy towel for him, and licked it off her neck without thinking. He stepped back at her slight intake of breath and looked away, wishing he hadn't been so bold. She was sure to think him a pervert.

"Right, let's get dressed then," she murmured, handing him the towel and summoning the stacks of clothes beside the door that Kreacher had left. Trousers and socks soared into his face and when he pulled them down to fold them, he watched Hermione stuffing what looked like a bra under the jumper she'd summoned.

"I didn't look," he said sheepishly, and Hermione sighed and grinned, turning to enter the shower stall. Ron's mouth dropped and his entire body went rigid. He couldn't help it; a low moan escaped, and she whipped around, looking curious.

"What?" she asked, a smile starting on her cheeks.

"Erm, you might want to make a longer towel," he stammered, looking anywhere but at her face, and he saw her go slack as she realized what he meant from the corner of her eye. Hermione was standing stock still, horror written plainly on her face. Ron felt laughter bubble up inside him at her mortification.

"Oh, come on, Love, not like it's the end of the world, I mean, I've been admiring that view for years . . . just usually with your trousers on," he joked, seeing her begin to shake with laughter.

"Yes, well, I guess it's not that bad," she whispered, relaxing just slightly as he walked towards her and hugged her. Ron felt her relax more in his arms, and it took all his might not to let his eyes look down, knowing what he'd see.

"It's not like you won't see it in the future," she whispered hesitantly, and Ron stiffened, smiling into her bushy wet locks.

"Yes, I look forward to you conjuring smaller and smaller towels . . ." he started, but she shushed him with a light smack.

"You better not be looking down there," she said shrewdly, eyeing him as she pulled back, and Ron smiled wide, going in for the kill.

"No, I'm not looking," he smirked as his hand met its target and squeezed.

"RONALD BILIUS WEASLEY!"


	52. The Perfect Hot Chocolate

52

Ginny

He looked so peaceful now when he slept. It was a far cry from what she remembered every summer he'd stayed at the Burrow. Ron and Harry might not have thought of it, but without the silencing charms they were used to casting while at school, she could hear it every time he'd had a nightmare. Ginny could think back on countless nights, long before she'd been able to call Harry a friend even, when she'd awoken to hearing Harry thrash around or crying out upstairs. She was always trapped, unable to do anything to comfort him; it was only in the last year at Hogwarts, during summer and winter holidays, that he'd started leaving Ron's room after particularly bad nightmares and she could casually walk down, pretending she'd wanted a glass of milk, and "stumble" upon Harry in the living room. He'd been embarrassed the first time, but he'd still talked a bit, and he seemed more relaxed after talking than when he'd first entered the room. Ginny had known that somehow, her presence calmed him; and for then, it was enough.

Now, she watched his chest rise and fall, slow, steady breaths, and she savored each intake. He was alive. Alive, and rugged even in sleep, his tousled hair thankfully clean but still long, reaching the bottom of his chin and touching his shoulders in the back. His face was untroubled for the first time in months- years, really; Harry's forehead was smooth and his chin was covered in three days' worth of stubble that she'd felt last year when he'd kiss her. Godric, he was a sight for sore eyes.

Kreacher popped into the room with deadly accuracy right beside her perch on the chair, silent but startling, and Ginny was lucky she'd cast a silencing spell on herself the last time he'd done it.

"Master is still sleeping," he observed, and Ginny was tempted to chuckle before she remembered that he wouldn't be able to hear it. Kreacher had been waiting to feed his Master for the last twenty seven hours since Harry had fallen asleep, the plate of sandwiches, fresh fruit and assorted pasties covered by time-lock spells and a refrigerant charm that Ginny was grateful she'd picked up from her Mum. She nodded her head, lifting the silencing charm, and Kreacher bowed low.

"Mistress," he addressed her, "would you be liking anything? Kreacher can get you tea if you wish," and Ginny shook her head. "I'd love a good pot of hot chocolate, though, I think Harry would love it when he gets up," she offered, thinking of how thin he'd felt when she'd hugged him after the sunrise.

"Kreacher, can you bring whipped cream for it? He really is skinny," Ginny asked, and Kreacher's eyes assessed his Master's sleeping form darkly.

"Yes, Master has not been feeding himself at all, Kreacher sees," he snipped, and Ginny giggled.

Kreacher popped out to the kitchens and returned later with a tray laden with hot chocolate, two mugs, a frothy jam jar filled with whipped cream, and a bowl full of fluffy marshmallows. Ginny could have swooned when she dipped one in the hot chocolate and the rich liquid stuck to the sides like melted honeydukes.

She closed her book, which she had only been reading to pass the hours until he awoke, and settled down by the small table on the floor, crossing her legs over the throw rug that she was nestled in. Humming, she flipped through the album she'd brought with her from the DA room yesterday, the one Susan had been making. She had recorded the final casualty count from the battle yesterday inside, marking victims and their attackers inside to preserve some form of the ridiculous, garbled memories from the day before in her mind. Dennis waved at her from one, beaming at his brother who was likely taking the picture, and Ginny felt her gut twist as she was reminded that unlike all the others, Colin had not a single picture. He had taken them all.

Sighing, she paged through the others, slowly but surely labeling the names of each person in the photos, along with their year and house. Neville, strong and confident, barked orders at a simulation group in one photo. Ernie bandaged Seamus in another, who was fighting with a hacked off Lavender. Yellow canaries flitted in and out of the frame, and Ginny had to chuckle, wondering if Lav had gotten the idea from Hermione herself. Yulang, Demelza, Audrey, and a bunch of fifth years were swinging from the ceiling, practicing low-range levitation for disillusioned spying, and Hannah was sitting next to Luna, shaking with laughter, as Luna painted her own high-heels a bright neon yellow to clash with her kitchen.

Some of them were gone now. Ella and Wade had both died, targeted as Slytherins who'd fought for the Order. Augustine had turned on them and was now on the run, though she'd suspected he might have jumped ship long ago and had stopped giving him information back near Easter. Lavender was gravely injured, the Patil girls had been knocked unconscious when their Durmstrang shield absorbed a nasty curse and had yet to awaken, and Ginny had seen the bodies of ten fifth and sixth years in the corridor outside the charms classroom, lined up carefully on the linen burial cloths provided next to Colin and Fred. Remus and Tonks were resting nearby, white and cold in death, and Tonks' hair had faded to brown as she'd been moved. There were too many dead. Fred was dead. The thought still hit her like an anvil to the chest, and she pulled away from its icy grip, trying to keep the tears that threatened to overcome her at bay.

"Is that from this year?" came Harry's voice behind her, and she jumped with a startled "ho!" from the floor. Harry was standing behind her, his sock-covered feet quiet on the carpet, leaning over to see the pictures with startling emerald eyes.

"Yeah, these are my fighters," she said softly, touching the photo with Demelza, Romilda, and the other girls giggling as they stirred another batch of paint.

"We heard on the road that you'd started up the DA again," Harry murmured, crouching down to sit by her. Ginny felt her heart flutter as his knee came to rest against hers. She pulled a cup out for him and poured cocoa in, dropping a handful of marshmallows in and spooning some whipped cream on top.

"You remembered," he said softly.

"It's not perfect without both," she agreed, and they fell into silence, staring at the faces.

"You tried to steal the sword for me," he said, and she nodded, still not trusting herself to look at him. Harry didn't seem to mind. He was turning the pages, sipping the hot chocolate and reading the names of students below. His eyes spoke of recognition for some, and he leaned in to see other pictures, where younger students he wouldn't have known practiced spells or listened to Neville or herself lecturing.

"I got this for my trouble. It was stupid, poorly planned- we only had three people to get in, we were banking on Snape getting caught up in the decoy below," she argued, and Harry took her open palm with worried eyes and traced over the faint line that stretched across it.

"This was deep," he said, nervously eying her, and she shrugged. "It did hurt. I broke the case with a piece of glass when spells wouldn't work, but then Snape came up and Luna and I were caught.

"I thought Neville was there in the forest with you?" he asked, and she nodded her head before cocking it to look at him for the first time.

"Yes, but how did you know?"

"We stumbled into Dean, a bunch of goblins, and Ted Tonks and Dirk Cresswell while we were camping. They were talking about it," he admitted, and Ginny dropped her eyes from his face. "I was terrified you'd be tortured for it, but then Dean asked if you were ok and they said you'd been sent into the forest," Harry admitted, and Ginny wanted to laugh.

"We had to collect acromantula hairs on a full moon, with a werewolf pack howling around us, and no wands," she said, and Harry was sitting straight in his chair, looking at her with a horrified expression growing across his face. "Neville and I built a shelter of sorts because we didn't want the Carrows to find us- they taught at the school this year, Harry- and then I sent a Patronus to Fleur and she came through to get to us. I don't remember her though, I had passed out," she admitted, watching his face grow more concerned.

"Snape shouldn't have risked your life like that," he growled, but Ginny shook her head.

"He sent Fleur to us as well- she got a second patronus," she explained, and confusion crossed his face.

"Two patroni? How'd you send yours?"

"Wandless."

"Wandless? Really?"

"Really," she said, a smile starting to form, and Harry gestured to the room at large for her to show him. Ginny closed her eyes, thinking of the moment she'd seen him alive, standing in the Great Hall, shielding her mother from certain death.

"Expecto Patronum!" she called, her wand arm outstretched, and a silver blur materialized and solidified, and her faithful doe was nuzzling her hand.

"Ginny . . ." he began, and she ducked her head, realizing what he was going to ask.

"I don't know when it changed, it just did," she said, and Harry bit his lip. An awkward silence fell and the doe faded, the air shining silver as the mist dispersed.

It was quiet, and she sipped more hot chocolate, reveling in the rich flavor and the comforting weigh in her belly. Her hair felt cool, still damp from her second shower this morning, and the heat of the drink felt good in her stomach.

"Wait, have I only been asleep four hours?" Harry asked, eying the clock by the table and scratching his head.

"Wait . . . no way . . . it can't be," he said, looking at her slow smile.

"Really?" he asked.

"Really," she responded, and Harry fell back against the chair, taking a swig of his hot chocolate and breaking off a bit of pastry.

"No wonder I'm hungry, I've slept twenty eight hours!"

Ginny chuckled and started on her own breakfast. Piling a plate with fruit and some cereal, she picked up her spoon and dug in with relish.

"I want to tell you what happened," Harry said slowly, pausing to meet her eyes, "but not all at once, it would take forever. I need to do something first, too," he admitted, and Ginny eyed the wand that was sitting on his bedside table.

"You're going to return it to Dumbledore?" she asked, and he nodded, looking over at his own wand where it lay on the bed.

"It's strange to have it so far away- this whole year, I've kept my wand on me when I showered," he chuckled, and Ginny's stomach flip-flopped when he ran his hand through his long hair.

"We'll get used to it, Harry, though I suspect you and I might always have trouble following us," she offered, and Harry nodded, chuckling again. He had such a deep, wonderful laugh.

"Why is trouble following you?" he inquired, watching her face as he buttered a roll and shoved it in his mouth. She rolled her eyes and looked away.

"I did a lot of things with the DA that they weren't too pleased about," she explained. "Hogwarts wasn't the same, Harry- I did what you would have done. We reformed the DA with Neville as leader the second week of classes, and we ran training for battles, spied on the Carrows, monitored Snape, broke into his potions stores-" here Harry interrupted with a gasp and his eyes tripled in size, and she paused, letting the enormity of the situation sink in. "Breaking in to the Headmaster's was just the riskiest. They whipped students, Harry- first years- they tortured kids to get their parents to cave down in the dungeons, and Pansy and her pack were bullying everyone, and we started running jailbreaks to get the younger students out of the dungeons and healed. Some of it was fun, though- Halloween we set off a bunch of jack-o' lanterns and confetti and streamers, and we had a sign too- something about your anniversary of defeating Moldy Shorts," she continued, and Harry let out a bark of laughter here that reminded her strongly of Sirius- "but I wasn't there to see that night, I was tied up," she finished, and Harry looked at her, mirth in his eyes.

"Tied up? Too busy to see your handiwork in action?" he teased, and Ginny went red.

"No, I was in the dungeons- I got between Alecto and her favorite prey- a first year," she whispered, and Harry's face fell. The quiet was awkward, and she couldn't even sip her drink, he was staring at her so intensely.

"Gin, what happened to you this year?" he asked softly a minute later, and she felt the tears spill over. Within seconds Harry had pulled her to him, his arms wrapping around her, and it was like a dam had broken inside; all the worries she'd had, all the fears she'd kept locked inside, every single nightmare she'd pushed to her subconscious was unraveling, bursting out the ruptured floodgates and she cried, her tears drenching his shirt as he rocked her. She told him about Amycus attacking her, and he cried with her; she told him of wanting to rip Alecto to pieces for what she said about Muggleborns, hanging in the dungeons for three days and passing out, being whipped and crucio'ed and fighting to secure the castle in February, Snape stealing her socks- and it was a mark of their bond that Harry did not laugh at this, but continued to rock her, kissing her forehead and smoothing back her hair- and then, she plunged over the final impasse, blubbering out between sobs the story of her capture. Harry's arms went stiff as she told of fighting Bellatrix, of trying to wound but not kill, of her beating from Fenrir and her fight to keep her dignity, of passing out and waking up alone in the tiny, maddening cell, of fighting Tom's men; the guilt washed over her, remembering the fiendfyre that had swallowed up Marcus Flint and the sectumsempra she'd used to cut off her assailant before Tom killed him, and her escape from her prison, half dead, after being cursed. Here Harry cried out and grabbed her arm, pulling up her sleeve to stare, horrified, at the black rose and vine curling up her arm and the snake that lowered it's fangs towards her elbow.

"I know it's not pretty, I hate it, but I can't get rid of it!" she sobbed, and Harry shushed her and kissed her cheek again.

"Stop it, you're beautiful, Gin, I'm just so sorry I wasn't there to protect you," he whispered frantically, and she pulled back to look him in the eye.

"You leaving me didn't protect me, Harry. I might have been safer in the castle for awhile, but Tom didn't care if you'd broken things off or not; I was in for it the minute I stepped into the castle because I was a Weasley, even without being your ex-girlfriend," she stared pointedly, putting her finger against his chest. Harry shrunk back, looking guilty.

"You're not leaving me to protect me again, Harry, and that's final," she swore, and Harry wrapped his arms around her again and snuggled her into his chest.

"Promise," he said, and she relaxed against him. "Just tell me one thing," he asked, and Ginny nodded against him.

"Does this mean you take me back?" came his hopeful voice, and she felt laughter, light and free, rip from her mouth.

"I guess you'd have to ask me, Harry," she chortled, trying to stop shaking as he was beginning to as well from the laughter that was leaving him.

"Ok, well, Ginevra Molly Weasley, will you do me the honor of forgiving me my hideous, despicable, chauvinistic-"

"Don't forget prat-like," Ginny added, "and DON'T call me Ginevra!"

"-prat-like, wait, is that even a word?"

Ginny stared back at him.

"Ok, ok, just wanted to make sure I'm doing this right! Prat-like, self-centered, insensitive desire to protect you and be my girlfriend again?" Harry's eyes were sparkling, his hands rubbing her back in slow, lazy circles that reminded her of all the other things they could do once she was his girlfriend again.

"Hmm, I'll have to think about it," she teased, and Harry's eyes darkened just barely, heat shooting from them.

"I think I can persuade you," he growled, and his face lowered, his lips sweeping over hers in soft, sweet perfection. Ginny felt his arms tighten around her until she was pulled flush against him, her blood racing as his tongue caressed her lips and she moaned into the kiss, feeling a sudden pull towards the floor overtake her. Harry broke off the kiss, breathing heavily, and pulled back. Ginny opened her eyes with frustration. He was looking at her like she was a cup of hot chocolate to be sipped, and she felt her entire body flush as she met his eyes, feeling him taking her in. Harry didn't seem to mind that she was terribly thin, or that her skin was sickly and pale. She blushed and he chuckled, kissing her palm, and then stopped, looking at the scar.

"Are there others?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, and she nodded painfully, tugging down her shirt sleeve to cover the rose.

"I have a concealment charm Fleur taught me, but I don't use it for all of them," she said, and Harry looked at her with so much love in his eyes it made her suck in her breath.

"Can I see them?"

Four simple words, and she had no idea how to respond. She sat back, her legs pulled up to her chest, and eyed him.

"Please, Ginny. I'll show you all my new ones," he offered, a slight smile on his face, trying to joke, and she rolled her eyes.

"Trust me, it'll help me tell all the stories- and I've been told from Hermione that birds dig scars, right?" Ginny laughed and slapped his arm. He was indulging in one of their favorite inside jokes. Hermione had been sitting next to Ron in the library in sixth year and Ginny and Harry, newly a couple, had witnessed her tell a somewhat distracted Ron, who had been eying his own scars on his arms all day, that some witches found "battle wounds" attractive. Ron had perked up and stupidly asked her if she did, and Hermione had spluttered, effectively ending the entire opportunity. Harry and Ginny had engaged in one of their more heated snogging sessions later on that day, frequenting one of Harry's favorite spots- the same alcove where he'd caught her snogging Dean earlier that year, because, as she teased him often, it had made him realize what a catch she was. Ginny had ruined their heated moment mid-snog, just as Harry had been pulling up her shirt to kiss her belly, when she'd caught sight of his scar and burst into loud, snorting laughter. They hadn't been able to recover for twenty minutes once he'd realized why she was laughing.

"I have one on my arm, see- this is from Nagini, at Christmas- we went to Bathilda Bagshot's house, looking to see if Dumbledore had any clues hidden there for us-"

"And to see if she'd remember anything about your parents," Ginny added knowingly, and he looked at her, smiling sadly, and nodded.

"Anyway, it was sick- Bathilda had been dead for months, and Nagini was inside her skin- she brought just me upstairs, and then she came out and attacked, and Hermione had to apparate us out fast before Tom could get there," he finished, and Ginny traced over the faint red lines with her fingers, looking up at his face as he shivered.

"It doesn't hurt, does it?" she asked worriedly, and then she smacked herself when he blushed faintly, shaking his head, and she realized that months of physical separation were affecting him as deeply as they were her.

Harry began to carefully explain the locket-shaped scar on his chest, but Ginny was three steps ahead of him. He was shocked to hear just how much she'd known, and when she explained how she'd searched the abandoned Riddle House and run into Nagini just a week ago, he grew angry and made her promise never to leave on such a foolhardy mission alone again.

"Harry, I know it was stupid," she said softly, " but it's not like I'm the only one who's run off on some crusade without giving thought to the consequences," she added, trying to remind him of their search for the Horcruxes and gasping painfully when he hung his head, clearly reminded of Sirius.

"That's not what I meant," she said gently, and he nodded.

"I know, Gin. It's ok."

A pause broke between them as each contemplated their thoughts.

"Show me yours?" he pleaded softly and Ginny grimaced, looking first at her hands. She pulled off her socks and rolled up her sweatpants, and Harry looked down with stony anger at the faint, barely visible marks from the shackles that had held her to the wall. Each wrist and ankle bore the silvery lines, and he turned her hand over and kissed each line, smiling when she giggled as he kissed her feet.

"Cutting hexes from Valentine's Day, we got attacked," she continued, showing the three lines that crossed her calves.

"Those aren't permanent, Gin," he assured her, running a finger over each one and kissing them.

"Next, we have more Halloween . . . Alecto whipped Neville, Luna and me," she said, and Harry let out a noise of angry disgust, then a gasp of quick breath as she turned around and pulled her jumper over her head. She heard him give off a strangled cry and tentative fingers reached out, tracing the silvery lines on her bare back. She felt the deepest one as he touched it, and he pulled his finger back when she flinched.

"They're a little sensitive," she admitted, and Harry kissed them, his lips bruising her mind as she tried to focus and hold her breathing steady.

"Any others?" he whispered, his hands still on her waist, and Ginny nodded.

"Can I see them?" he asked when she didn't move, and Ginny pulled her jumper back on and turned to face him.

"They're in sensitive spots," she whispered finally, and he looked down at the floor. The fruit and cereal lay untouched.

"I don't have to see them, Gin, but I will someday, and I'll kiss them then," he promised, and Ginny sighed and stood up, removing her jumper once more. Harry stopped breathing and she was tempted to laugh if it hadn't been such a serious topic.

"This," she said, pointing to the tiny mark visible between her bra-covered breasts and the other three on her lower belly, "is from Greyback," and Harry let out an angry growl, standing up and hugging her to him.

"I can't promise no one will hurt you again, Ginny, but I can promise I'll fight like hell to keep you safe," he said fiercely, and then his eyes fell to the bottom wound that was deepest on her belly.

"I know he was trying to . . . but will those be like Bill's?" he asked, and Ginny shook her head.

"This one opens on full moon sometimes," she admitted, and Harry sagged, aghast, "but it's been getting better and Madam Pomfrey and Hannah both assured me that other than my meat preferences and my sex drive, nothing else will change," she said matter-of-factly, and Harry looked uncomfortable for a moment before she smiled at him reassuringly.

"I just like my steaks rare and my time with you more medium well," she joked, and Harry laughed and pulled her onto his lap. Ginny's eyes drifted down, and he looked up at her, warming her everywhere, and his eyes flickered to the scars on her belly. Ginny sucked in a breath as his mouth pressed hot against her scars, one by one, and then she pulled her jumper back on, wishing she were less injured and more emotionally stable. Harry's eyes raked over her, dark and desiring, and she leaned in and indulged in a few heated kisses before pulling back when she began to feel out of control. Harry groaned when her tongue left his, his hands running over her thighs on his lap, and Ginny shivered, making him grit his teeth.

"Sorry, I forgot about that," she giggled, and Harry smacked his hand to his head, rolling his eyes.

"Well, seeing as how you don't have to deal with that," he chuckled, his face an impressive Weasley red, and Ginny snuggled against his chest and sighed.

"Any others?" he asked, worry dripping from his tone, and Ginny nodded against him.

"There are five more tiny claw marks on my thighs, inside on the left and right sides . . . he was trying to get my underwear off," she whispered, holding him closer, and Harry hugged her tight and kissed her forehead.

"You're safe," he whispered, and she smiled into the hug.

"So are you."


	53. The Hogwarts Task Force

Reviewers/readers from 34 countries, over 4,000 hits in November alone, and I'm up to 180,000 words!

BOO-YA-HA-HA!!!

So, the battle is over, and now we're progressing into what I call mourning part 1 and reconstruction . . . just without the carpetbaggers We'll see more of the Weasleys, some Luna/Dean, Susan/Ernie, Neville and Hannah (of course!) and a bit of Fleur :-) Also coming up: Theo Nott, who will cover the disappearance of Augustine Lestrange as well as the trial of the Malfoys/Umbridge, and our second Slytherin guest, who'll give all the diehard Malfoy fans a delicious taste of what dating a Malfoy can mean . . . and yes, I do mean the lovely Astoria, who seems to be able to keep his smirk in check.

For all those ready to read, I've got approx 20 chapters left, though some will be shorter. I'll cover summer and the eve of returning to Hogwarts, and then I'll finish this to start my next fanfic!

Any comments, ideas, questions? Thanks for the reviews!

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53

Minevra

"Honestly, Minister- fine, Kingsley!- I don't know what state the castle will be in . . . with the students and their families here, clean-up is flying, but I worry that structural damage has been done to the castle, and the wards will need to be overhauled. Frankly, I can't reopen for the next two weeks," Minevra opined, looking to her colleagues across the table.

"I woul' surgesst that we open up fer the students who want to take OWLS an' such for the summer, an' if they want to come back for a full year, they can sign on fer that too," Hagrid interjected wisely, and nodding heads surrounded the table of twelve. Four ministry officials including Arthur, Amos Diggory, a woman in blue robes who headed the Wizengammot and the head of the Aurors, Gawain Roberts, sat at one end, while the Hogwarts professors, including the two newest teachers, crowded around the room in chairs and heavy brocade benches.

Pomona Sprout, her fingernails thankfully cleaned since the battle the morning before, smiled and added her part.

"I'll need all summer to get the greenhouses back up; we'll be wanting to take out an ad for some help, Mienvra," she informed, and Kingsley nodded.

"This brings up an excellent point I wanted to discuss: I know we need to give everyone a week or so to cool things down and stabilize, but we'll need a head count of who will be returning in fall out of the sixth and seventh years so we can fill the Aurors. I want to offer anyone who stayed to fight or is interested a spot on the training classes, and I need to get started on this right away," he reminded the others, but Arthur shook his head.

"That's a big decision for them to make, Kingsley, they'll need more time; we can ask them to return to school and maybe start a class here to train while they finish? They can get a year of their Auror training out of the way, and then, if they decide not to join up, they can just graduate and find other work," he proposed, and a volley of nodding and affirmative noises went around the table.

"I'll work with that for now. I still have to finish interrogating the Auror's I've got to find out who's turned and who stayed quiet."

"Alright, that business is settled. Now, on to the high headcount we'll be expecting; I really think we should prepare for the worst, Minevra," Slughorn cautioned jocularly, and the others smiled indulgently, watching his chin wobble.

"Horace, we're going to be overflowing. We've already gotten sixteen letters asking when the next term will start from Muggleborns or others who were on the run, and I've estimated that if every single student returned to finish schooling, as well as our current seventh years, we'll have an increase in class size by almost twenty percent; that's a hundred students, Horace, and we have to assume many of them will return, even under the present circumstances. We're going to need to set up tutors, not cut classes," she argued, and Poppy nodded in agreement.

Flitwick stood on his chair to be level with their faces. "I propose that Mr. Longbottom be encouraged to act as Teaching Assistant for Poppy, and Miss Granger and Miss Bones be asked to cover Transfiguration and Charms, respectively," but Slughorn cut him off. "I think Miss Granger will find herself much more suited to potions, a natural, just like Harry-"

"Harry Potter will decide for himself if he wants to return to school, he is of age, and he will not be bullied or coerced into doing anything he does not want to do by anyone in this room," Minevra cut across, strict and no-nonsense, and the occupants swallowed or grimaced with guilt. "That being said, Mr. Malfoy will be an acceptable potioneer assistant for chopping ingredients, while I will require Miss Granger's help, should she be agreeable, in Transfiguration. I will be bringing two new teachers into our halls to take the Transfiguration Post and the Defense Against the Dark Arts, and I have yet to find a suitable Muggle Studies replacement, though I do have some ideas. Miss Bones would be admirably suited to Arithmancy should you both so desire, Professor Vector," Mienvra finished, and movement circled the room as chairs scraped and witches and wizards stood, stretching, and shaking hands.

"Will that be all, Minister?" Minevra asked, and Kingsley smiled.

"We have the ceremony two days from today, and then we cut out the Mediwitches and the Auror staff by half next week; I'll speak to Arthur about what we had discussed, Minevra, but I still feel badly asking the boy for help. He's been separated from his family for so long."

"Yes, but he has handled stress well in the past, and he is certainly one of the few you know you can trust," she offered as the conversations beside them drifted out into the hall.

"You don't feel that his involvement the past year will make him less able to distinguish who has gone over to Voldemort?" Kingsley asked, and Minevra shook her head.

"He might be a bit pompous, at times, but I feel his professionalism and his keen eye will be good to pick up on details and record the facts. You need to have the entire Ministry interviewed with the exception of Arthur and a few others. He's been close enough to the Ministry lackies that served under Voldemort that he's gotten to see them, but he never went over himself. It's perfect."

Kingsley nodded and shook her hand in thanks. He turned to his new Undersecretary, who was trying to shake off the glaring looks he was receiving from Molly's patronus, a mother bear, who was watching him and tapping her foot impatiently in a very Molly-like way.

"Arthur, I feel terribly awkward asking your opinion on this, I can't even imagine how difficult all this must be for you, but do you think-"

"Yes, he'd do it. He's ready. I don't think anything could stop him, but I would consider giving him another week before you ask him," Arthur pressed, and Bill stood, shaking Kingsley's hand.

"I'll get back to you about the goblins; they should be happy with the new policy. I have the feeling it's going to be a good boost for public relations with them if we give them a concession and offer some new options. Percy should be ready, Kingsley, just give him a few days- Dad's right, he's been away from us for too long. He's taking Fred's death out on himself more than the others."

"Thanks, Bill, and I'll get that paperwork to you as soon as I can to sign over the position. Send Fleur my love," he added, and Bill grinned and slapped him on the back.

"Oh, I'll send her love alright," he chuckled, and Kingsley laughed with him, shaking his head. Full moon must be soon if Bill was making obvious innuendo. Scratch that, they'd just won a war, he reminded himself. He sighed, thinking about his favorite couple, the pink hair of his best friend from work shadowing the happiness of their victory a darker tone.

"I'll see you all soon for the memorial service. Arthur, Bill-" he acknowledged, nodding his head and sweeping from the room.

"Minnie, we appreciate for the use of the castle for the meeting," he thanked on his way down the corridor to check in at the infirmary, and Minevra McGongall spluttered in indignation.

"Under what presumption would you call me that?" she squawked, and Kingsley let out a laugh.

"That's what you're known as in the DA. The students began calling you Minnie halfway to Christmas," he informed, and McGonagall's mouth twitched.

"I wondered why the portraits were addressing me thus," she chuckled.


	54. More Sprinkles?

Hello again! There is still more to come- three chapters here in a row, everything is finished and I'm just editing as I go! Reviews are much appreciated!!!

Merry Christmas,

Jenna

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54

Ernie

It was a black day. The rain was fitting, somehow, lacing the sky with dark clouds. Ernie MacMillan looked up, craning his head back in the spindly seat he was sitting in, as the tiny wizened man droned on about valiant struggles and overcoming personal obstacles at the front of the massive, subdued crowd. It was only his mother's voice whispering in his head to behave that kept Ernie from flat out rolling his eyes and hexing the wizard, who seemed so impersonal and unaffected by their losses that the crowd might as well have been gathered to listen to a birthday commemoration, rather than a day of grief. Fifty two caskets lay in the thin layer of mud on the western grounds, surrounded by chairs in all directions; thirty centaurs, their silvery bows and smooth flanks rising out of the grass, stood towards the forest, waiting for the signal to fire their salute. Wizards and witches, and even a few muggles, the parents of Muggleborns who had died, were amassed by the thousands. Were it not for the bleak circumstances, it would have felt much like the Quidditch World Cup; there were no cheering fans here, no wild banners unfurled and waving in the wind as the storm raged around them. Weather control-spells shielded them from the worst of the storm, but Ernie felt tiny drops hit his forehead and neck every once and awhile. They were fresh and cool, and distracted him from the ripping pain he felt every time he looked at Quentin's family, who were sobbing as they approached his casket, or Padma, who was silent without her twin, lost as she wandered the grounds while her sister slept in St. Mungoes. Seamus was being helped on crutches to pay his respects to Colin. Fifty two friends, fifty two fighters- they rested now in the ivory stone caskets, deep holes awaiting their final resting place. Susan trembled beside him, her eyes leaking as she lifted a strong chin towards the front, and the crowd parted to let her pass on her way to say goodbye to friends. So many had died. Too many. It felt like a weight had dropped onto his chest with each face he passed, each tear-streaked, overwhelmed pair of eyes that struck his with the depth of their pain.

Ernie healed bodies, but he could not mend souls. He grasped Susan's hand and walked to the first row.

Tonks and Professor Lupin were here, their bodies cleaned and dressed in their best. Tonks' Auror robes glinted a dark red even in the storm, and Ernie shook his head as he realized her hair was a dirty brown he'd never seen, and longer; her morph must have ended when she died. A woman in her fifties held a tiny infant bundled in layers, squalling, next to the two lovers' caskets, and Ernie felt a rush of sorrow envelop him as he recalled Susan touching Tonks' belly each time she came to train them. This little one would never know the mother who had battled to save a better world for him.

Colin's face was next, pale and still. Ernie chocked back a sob, swallowing down the bile that threatened to rise as he recognized the wiry purple marks of a blood-boiling hex that had killed him. Susan squeezed his hand and drew him close to the next coffin, a girl he recognized as a fourth year but did not know. Susan conjured a wreath of white lilies and lay them at the girls' feet, then whispered something in her ear. Ernie shook his head, trying to clear the lightheadedness he was experiencing. The sun broke through the clouds, mocking their grief, and lit up the white planes of the caskets, shining like pearly liquid between mourners.

He passed five more, then six, each face a blow to his heart, seeing those he had protected, those he had healed and taught and sometimes, those who had sheltered him; tiny Sylvia had returned to the battle only to be disemboweled by a nasty curse as she tried to hide in one of the many dugouts. Two caskets were closed; no one wanted their last memories of Heath and Travis to be the scorched, charred figures that lay inside. Lavender was still missing, though Seamus had assured the others she would be making a full recovery, and Dean was in the hospital wing with two broken ribs and a nasty set of curses. Michael Corner sat in the mud, hunched over and shaking, and Ernie slid down next to him, trying to ignore the occupant of the casket behind them. His shoes made a squelching sound as the mud slopped around, and he tried not to imagine the state of his trainers after this type of treatment.

"Mike, he'd of wanted to go this way," he said quietly, but Mike shook his head violently.

"HE DIDN'T WANT TO GO AT ALL!" he screamed, and Susan lifted an eyebrow questioningly from across the aisle, asking if he needed help. Ernie shook his head left to right just barely and kept his eyes on the mud, which had begun to seep into his socks.

"No, I don't suppose he did. I'm sorry. I wish we could have saved him. But he died protecting you and Demelza, and Cho might still make it because of his shield charm; we should be proud of what he did."

"I am proud. I just don't want him to be gone. I can't handle it if he's not here; he was my brother," Michael whispered despairingly, and Ernie wrapped an arm roughly around his shoulders and squeezed once. The dams broke and Mike screamed out, convulsing against him, and Ernie cast a shield charm over them and a silencing bubble so as not to interfere with the others nearby. He doubted Mike really wanted every bloody fighter from the battle to hear him mourning his best friend. Demelza was standing behind them, looking guilty and exhausted, and she started towards Mike with concern but stopped when Ernie shook his head and motioning towards Padma, who was crying again in earnest. Tony was gone forever. Ernie didn't even want to think about how Parvati would suffer when she woke up- if she woke up, he corrected himself- to find her boyfriend gone and her best friend permanently scarred by a werewolf.

His thoughts were broken by a scuffle near the coffins of the Order members who'd died, but the attacker was quickly reduced to sobs and his friends were whispering soothingly. Whatever had been said to offend him had quickly been dealt with, it seemed, and Ernie felt relief flow through him even as Mike sobbed against his shoulder. He sent a cleansing charm at Mike's face and offered his handkerchief, which Mike grabbed at before honking loudly into it. Ernie's eyes went round as saucers when he heard Ginny let out a giggle at the sound, smiling apologetically at Mike, who looked up and gave her a watery grin back. Her hair was wild and messy, looking like she'd been flying for several hours before coming back to Earth to bury her brother, and Ernie considered that she probably had in all likelihood needed a distraction this morning to get through what was needed. The rest of the Weasleys were gathered around Fred's coffin, their red hair and freckles shining bright against the grey sky and the grey people, and Ernie tugged Susan over when he saw Ron lay his head on Hermione's shoulders and begin sobbing again into her hair.

"I'm sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. Fred was always the life of the school. I even liked having him beat us at Quidditch; he was always good for a laugh and a show," he offered as gently as he could, and Mrs. Weasley lifted her head from her husband's tear-stained shirt and nodded gratefully, still crying. Ernie looked at George, who was standing alone at the foot of the casket, unmoving, seeming to stare through the alabaster and ivory straight to the core of the earth. He'd been there all morning and the entire night before, refusing to sleep when Fred was about to sleep forever. Harry had his arms around Ginny, and the others were all crying on one another, but George was silent, and Ernie was unnerved by the effect. Susan walked forward, tentative, and put her wand down on the casket.

"George?" she asked quietly.

George did not reply, and Ernie felt the tension double as the others watched his eyes grow angry and lethal.

"He wasn't supposed to leave me. We're never apart, not even to go on bloody dates. It was supposed to be me," he finished in a whisper, and Ernie's stomach plummeted as shock and pain erupted on the faces around him. Ginny seemed to be holding in sobs while Percy was hyperventilating, and the others seemed ready to contradict him when Susan pushed forward and drew her arms around him.

"It's going to hurt, George. When my Dad died, all I could think about was the fact that he left me. But he didn't really leave, George. He'll never be gone. His magic is inside of you," she whispered softly, and George began to shake, his eyes clamped shut and his face screwing up into a desperate howl. The scream of pain echoed across the grounds but not a single head turned to see the source; it was in everyone's hearts and minds even without George releasing his own voice to the air. Susan held him tight, rocking him gently, and he began to tremble more and shake. Harry walked up behind them, whispering something soft in George's ear, and he stilled for a moment, then tears broke out fresh on his face. He sat down in a chair, crying softly, and Ginny sat next to him, rubbing her brother's back as she stared at the coffin.

Ernie wiped away the tears on his face and grasped Susan's proffered hand, feeling warmth steal into him. There was suffering, yes, but healing would come when they let it.

The rest of the memorial passed in a blur of grey and brown and black. The rain lifted momentarily as Kingsley spoke for the Order members and his sister, whom Ernie had never seen before, who was being buried today. As one, the DA lifted their wands and chanted their goodbye:

"Go in Peace, friends, and rest beyond the veil," and with that, wands lowered and the caskets began to shift, mud sliding alongside as they lowered gently to their final resting places. Hermione walked to the front of the crowd by Kingsley and swooped her wand twice in a complicated arch, and dirt rose up from beside the graves and slowly trickled down, clods hitting the tops with resounding thumps that echoed across the silent, wet grounds. Ernie turned away from Terry, who was sobbing on Mike's shoulder as Tony's casket finally disappeared under the dirt. Susan was trembling next to him, and she bent over to say goodbye to Sylvia and tuck more lilies into the grave as the dirt fell.

Eventually the mounds were formed over each grave, and with a sudden boom that sounded like a cannon, the dirt compacted as though a giant pie-plate had covered the mounds to flatten them. Sobs broke out at the finality, and the onlookers milled about the graves, some trudging back to the castle.

Susan let out a cry beside him, and Ernie whirled around. Springing up from all the graves were bright green shoots, growing so rapidly it was as if they were watching a slow motion tape of three weeks in mere seconds. Hagrid erupted into loud sobs as tiny white blooms – lilies, hundreds of thousands of lilies- burst into being across the graves. Neville's wand was aloft, clearly rising with the growth of the flowers, and he twirled it twice with a flourish before the flowers stopped. His other arm was holding Ginny, who was shaking like mad as she finished the engraving on Fred's coffin with George's help. Ernie noted wryly that Harry seemed put off and confused at their closeness and he wondered to himself as he and Susan turned back to the castle whether they could handle any more drama after the battle.

It was a long walk, windy for May, and Ernie clutched Susan against him close to shelter her from the wind ripping through her hair. Everywhere the grass had been singed or trampled, and there were still rusty stains muddled near the castle. Susan charmed open the door for those who followed them in, and then rushed with a happy shriek towards the woman and girl sitting at the Hufflepuff table. Ernie walked over cautiously, wanting to stay out of their attention until Susan was done.

"This is Ernie, Mum- Ernie, meet my mother, Femora Bones, and my sister, Talia," Susan exclaimed, dragging him over without warning, and Ernie flushed as Susan's mother looked him up and down, as though trying to decide if he was good enough for her daughter. Susan beamed at her sister, who curtseyed and shook his hand with tact, and Ernie smiled at the bright little girl who shared Susan's eyes.

"Sue's mentioned you in letters, but she didn't say you were dating," her mother questioned, but Susan jumped in to save him, seeing his uncertain glance.

"My fault, Mum. Ernie's been after me for ages, I just didn't want to take any chances with the war," she began, but this was obviously not the right thing to say. Mrs. Bones jumped and looked at the two warily, and then covered her youngest daughter's ears with her hands.

"What do you mean, 'take chances'?"

Susan laughed as Ernie paled, and Mrs. Bones relaxed and seemed more at ease with Ernie, smiling apologetically when Susan explained she hadn't wanted to enter a relationship that would distract them from their safety. Ernie felt decidedly less comfortable than he had hoped for, but he could tell that Mrs. Bones appreciated his help to Susan in the battle, and he smiled when she asked him if he thought he could take care of her daughter. "MUM!" Susan protested at the rather forward question, but Ernie smiled at her and then directed his answer to Mrs. Bones.

"Susan can take care of herself, but I'll always be there to help her when she wants it." Mrs. Bones glanced at Susan with a slight grin and then began to ask to see the school, and Ernie offered to bring them to the kitchens to get some tea and recharge.

"What was that all about?" Susan whispered beside him as he tickled the pear.

"Dunno. Maybe she just thinks we're serious and wants to know my intentions," he replied, and Susan stiffened beside him before a grin flitted across her face and she hid her smile again.

"Right, well, we'll talk about that later," she teased, and the two opened the door to the kitchens. Mrs. Bones shrieked behind them and Ernie whirled around, wand out and a shield charm on his lips, but Susan had already sent several stunners into the room. Pots and pans clanged onto the floor with a tremendous racket and Ernie covered his ears, almost dropping his wand at the sight before him.

Two bodies toppled off the giant table the elves used for serving late-night snackers, one of them covered in what looked like powdered sugar and both in various states of frazzled undress. Ernie had just enough time to send up a shield that blocked them from view before Mrs. Bones wheeled out of the kitchen dragging Talia behind her, who was giggling excitedly, and Susan rushed after her mother to calm her down. Ernie heard scuffling behind the screen and gulped, wondering if his eyes had been working right.

"So, erm, sorry about that- didn't mean to arse in- er, butt in," he started, but Dean cut him off.

"I's ok, Ernie, sorry about this- didn't think about what we were doing, I guess," he called from behind the screen, and Ernie heard some snaps and the ruffle of a shirt going back on. He tried to ignore the pale outline of a girl moving behind the screen beside Dean, who had peeked out at the edge and was eyeing him warily.

"That woman that screamed isn't here now, is she?" he asked, and Ernie shook his head.

"That was Susan's mother, they're very much alike," came Luna's voice, and then she appeared beside Dean, buttoning her blouse, and brushed some powdered sugar from her long blonde hair.

"I didn't think she looked anything like Susan," Dean said, but Luna shrugged.

"They have the same ears, and if Susan ever screamed, it would sound like that, I think," she replied nonchalantly, and Dean shook his head, grinning, and put a kiss on her nose.

"So, yeah, I should probably get back to them," Ernie fumbled, wondering when Luna had become so comfortable with Dean. Luna smiled and walked over to him and hugged him close, and Ernie swallowed hard when he realized that it was quite obvious Luna had forgotten a key item of clothing when she had gotten dressed once more.

"It's so good to see you again, Ernie. I'm glad to see that Susan finally came around," she offered, and Dean shook his hand with a grin and clapped him on the back, nearly knocking him to the ground. Ernie set his cap to rights on his head and brushed some powdered sugar off his robes, catching up on their eventful year as he did.

"You know Dean, I think I want more sprinkles," Luna whispered dreamily, and Dean looked confused for a moment before his eyes widened and a huge grin slid onto his face like molasses.

"Mm, I think maybe you should go . . . the house elves can bring you a tea set and such to the common rooms, right?" he asked slyly, eying Luna's figure as she returned behind the screen.

Ernie's face flushed as he heard a zipper move behind the screen. Dean's grin doubled, and he licked his lips.

"Erm, sure . . . well, I mean, best be going . . . Sue is waiting, after all-"

"No, she's probably helping her mother calm down, but that's very kind of you to pretend with us, Ernie," came Luna's sing-song voice from behind the curtain. Ernie snapped his eyes shut at the sight of an outline of Luna taking off her shirt and ran back towards the door as Dean laughed behind him.

"Hey- we won the war, Ernie- you should be celebrating too!" he chortled, and Ernie slammed the pear portrait behind him with a resounding smack, leaning against it and panting.

Susan was waiting for him on the other side.

"I was just coming to get you. Mum's left, but she'll be back to get me and my things tomorrow. She wanted to know if you'll come stay for the week; I think she wants our help, the house got attacked while they were hiding and we'll need some help putting up new wards. Ernie . . . . are you quite alright?"

Ernie felt his face go redder still if it was possible and he prayed that those few ridiculously arousing moments in the kitchen hadn't gone to his head . . . or worse still, further south. He blinked twice, trying not to imagine himself pushing a very enthusiastic Susan onto the kitchen table and snogging her senseless . . . Mmmm, chocolate covered Susan . . . Susan stared at him, and Ernie became uncomfortably aware of the fact that not only had he not answered her yet, he had no idea what to say. He didn't really trust himself not to do something bloody stupid like have a breakdown and just scream "TITS!" the way she was looking at him.

Sue cocked her head to one side, examining his expression, and started grinning slyly. Ernie gulped as she walked towards him and placed a quiet kiss on his cheek.

"I'm going to guess you just talked to Dean about that bit of snogging we witnessed. You seem a bit flustered, Ernest . . . are you sure everything's alright?"

Her voice had gone low enough to be a whisper by the end of it, and Ernie gulped again and wiped his hands surreptitiously on his robe. Why, oh why, couldn't robes be a bit heavier? Why did they have to show every single bloody movement??? Susan's eyes flitted down and back up, her grin starting to remind him of the Cheshire cat from that bloody scary movie they'd watched in Muggle Studies his fifth year, and he suddenly realized he'd been walked backwards without realizing it, and Susan had walked forward stride for stride, and now – well- Godric, but he was practically pressed against the kitchen door!

Susan's face blanched for a second as a low moan could be heard through the door, and then she did a very un-Susan thing, and a giggle escaped her at the tortured look on Ernie's face.

"Don't worry, Ernest, we'll celebrate later. For now, well- why don't we get back to your room and take a nap? That memorial service really took a lot out of me," she admitted, and Ernie nodded, grasping her hand.

They turned to go down the hall, and he noticed she'd transfigured her dress robes to show a modest amount of calf so she could move with ease. Ernie gulped. Oh, boy, he was in trouble. What was so bloody wrong with him, he was starting to get aroused from her calves!

"I love the fact that I can always count on you to be a gentleman," Susan whispered beside him, nestling her head into his shoulder as they walked. Ernie swallowed a moan of frustration at the feel of her form pressed against him and sighed.

"Yes, love. Let's go take that nap," he observed a bit too gallantly. Susan looked up at him and grinned.

A long, drawn out pause fell between them as he eyed her smile with trepidation. She was far, far too clever for him.

"You didn't really think I just meant for us to sleep, did you Ernie?"


	55. Filling in the Gaps

55

Arthur

It was funny in a way. Out of all of his children, George was the only one who had inherited his love for the solitude of early mornings. Arthur Weasley had the feeling that even though the worst was over, he was going to need a lot of peaceful early mornings to himself before he would start to feel like anything in their new lives had clunk into place. It was all a rush of his children running from one funeral to the next, Molly making endless cups of tea and bursting into tears at every meal, and Ministry officials sending him obscene amounts of post asking him what should they do about this, or what to preference next, or did he think this person would make a good head for that department? Gone were his days when he could sit back in his office and spend an entire morning pulling apart a motorcycle engine. They had been surpassed by moving his family from one safe house to the next, keeping his children from danger in battle, and drawing up security detachments and ward plans with Remus and Kingsley.

Those days, too, had passed; his children may be safe- well, mostly safe, he admitted with a chocked back sob- but he had moved on to tea cups filled mostly with Molly's tears, and piles of fan mail from grateful witches and wizards who wanted to know who had been the Order Members who'd fought so gallantly? And seeing his son Ron snatch Hermione against him and fire six silent stunners at a stray cat who'd graced them with his presence on their first night back home, covered in potato peelings. It didn't matter that it had given them all a laugh, and that the poor stray had been fine- well, as soon as Ginny had rescued him from the bath Hermione had insisted on giving the thing- the changes in his family were permanent, final. He could not bring back a son from the dead. He could not erase the pain in his daughter's eyes. He was powerless to return Ron to the goofy, lanky, lazy boy he'd once been, and he had frighteningly little control over how George chose to grieve, though when he'd found the second bottle of firewhiskey, he'd pulled him out to the shed and pointed him to a seat.

Pulling back the cover on the motorcycle he'd salvaged, he kicked it viciously and watched George stare back, his eyes guarded and angry at being forced from his binge so early in the day. It had only been a week since the memorial, but already, Arthur could tell his son had no intention of picking up his life and giving Fred a good show to watch.

"I know that you boys loved Sirius, and you watched how much he hated living in that house. He let it become his prison, remembering all the things that had hurt him. I'm not saying there isn't a time for grief, George- but you're putting Fred to shame if you think for a minute he'd want you to let yourself become bitter and dead inside because he's gone. YOU ARE MY SON, you will not be joining him until after I am gone, and you will not let your pain rule you the way Sirius did," he commanded, knowing it was going to provoke a row and wanting to see anything besides defeat in his son's brown eyes.

The fight afterwards had been horrific. Neither of the twins had ever gotten physical with their father, opting as Ginny and Charlie had to use coercion instead. But George had been holding his hurt in since he'd seen Fred's casket enter the earth, and it was almost a relief for Arthur when his son bellowed like a bull halfway through yelling at him and launched himself into punches, landing two on him before Arthur could get his hands up. Fifty seconds were all it took. George was sobbing on the floor, allowing his father to cradle his head, and Arthur saw Ginny's scared face looking in through the tiny window that faced their house, her wand at the ready to cast a shield spell if the fight had continued. Tears fell down her cheeks and she nodded to her father, who was crying as well, though relief had surged through him now that George was able to mourn again. Molly had been whispering to him in the night that George would not want to be without his twin, that Gideon had always told her that if Fabian were to go, it would be cruel for him to live alone; she had cried for three nights in a row, trying to decide how they should intervene to ensure George did not hurt himself.

Arthur sipped his morning cuppa and stirred in some sugar, putting his feet up on the table. If Molly saw him, he'd be sleeping on the couch sure as there would be rain today, but this was his time to be by himself, to think, and he needed it more than ever now that the world had turned upside down.

Or was it right side up? Honestly, he couldn't tell. He' d exchanged one extreme- fear- for another, despair over the loss of his son. No one in the family slept well, but when they woke, they walked like inferi, avoiding each other's glances and hopelessly trying to plaster smiles on their faces at the tiniest of joys. Molly had made Ron's favorite meals each night to celebrate the Trio's return, Ginny had decorated the back porch with tiny white fairie lights while the others cleaned, and Bill had set up a new hand on the clock for Fleur and called for a celebratory drink that night at dinner. It was all a mockery of their true feelings, but somehow, even if these half-truths were poor covers for their desperate inner grief, they were better than facing the finality of death alone.

His son was gone. Tears slipped out every time he thought about it, and he thought about it often- before bed, when Molly was sniffling and he was changing into his pajamas, at the dinner table, when Ron or Ginny would accidentally set an extra place and then quietly, forlornly, take it back, hoping no one else had noticed, whenever he saw George- though it was rare- outside of his old room, and in between sucking on the end of his quill while writing letters and memos to the ridiculous amount of staff who worked under him now.

It was a Saturday, and Kingsley had insisted that Senior Advisor to the Minister or not, he needed to take off a few days. He had intended to catch up on sleep, feeling the six days of cleaning and re-warding they'd done at the wrecked Burrow take their toll, but after three hours he'd awoken from a horrible nightmare where Molly and the children were being picked off, one by one, by Death Eaters as he struggled to get out from under attack and run to them. Each time Fred fell, he woke in a sweat, screaming, and Molly would have the lights on in a flash, holding him as he shook and whispering in his ear. After the third time last night, he'd slipped on his shoes, kissed her head, and walked out to the back porch, where scorch marks from a failed attempt to burn down their home still made the reality of war painfully present.

He was not alone, it seemed. Harry was standing out underneath the old oak, coming back from a broom ride, and he watched his adopted son walk in with interest, sipping his tea as the early morning sun peaked over the forested horizon. Glints came rushing through the trees, outlining branches with gold flecks, and the spring leaves were rustling in the faint wind as Harry caught sight of him and nodded before sitting in a chair and leaning back, his eyes on the sunrise.

They were silent for awhile, both alone with their own thoughts, and the sun grew higher in the sky.

"Gin and I used to come out to the porch in the mornings," Harry spoke quietly, and Arthur nodded, knowing of his daughter's penchant for wandering early in the morning after nightmares.

"I suspect that it was a chance meeting that became habit?" he asked, and Harry nodded.

"Neither of us sleep well," he admitted, and Arthur nodded once more.

"I confess I'm having some trouble myself as of late, although I'm sure we can expect that for all of us," he agreed, hoping Harry didn't notice the hoarseness creeping into his voice.

Harry nodded.

"How's work?" he asked, and Arthur sighed.

"We've got the heads of the departments filled, but Kingsley wants to have Percy interview every single member under them with his council to weed out the Death Eaters or those who followed along with the last regime. The trials are all scheduled, but our Auror force is so low that I'm sure he's worried we'll face a breakout now that we don't have the dementors to guard the prison,"

"Better not to have them. We'll train more. I'm sure Neville and some of the others will want to come on as new trainees," he said with an uncomfortable shirk, and Arthur raised an eyebrow.

"I take it you won't be part of that group?" he asked, somehow knowing the answer had to do with his daughter, and wanting to know what Harry planned to do. Something had bothered him about the way they had been acting lately. It seemed almost as though they were avoiding one another, though he had seen them comforting one another at the memorial and after that as well, though not as publicly. Ginny had spent the last evening in her room with Hermione, and the night before with Ron, flying over the forest. Harry had spent both nights locked in his own mind on the back porch, examining the fairie lights she'd strung and springing to attention every time he heard her voice.

"I don't know," Harry admitted quietly, and Arthur smiled quietly and let him continue. "I don't know what I want anymore. I thought I would always want to be an Auror, but right now all I want to do is . . . is curl up with Ginny and forget the world exists," he faltered, looking up worriedly to see Arthur's reaction. He smiled at Harry, knowing it had taken guts to admit something like that to a girl's father.

"Harry, there's nothing wrong with wanting to grieve and heal after something like this. I don't think that there's anything wrong with wanting to hold the ones you love close after an ordeal like you three have had and just ignore the world for a bit. You're still young, after all. Ginny and Ron have both been spending time with your moth-"

He stopped, catching himself, and blinked at his mistake. "I'm sorry, Harry, I just meant that Molly is here to help, I mean, I am too, but,"

Harry cut him off.

"It's ok. I think of both of you as my parents, even if it's adopted," he said shyly, and Arthur swallowed a smile that threatened to make him cry for the second time this morning, though these tears would have been much more appreciable to him.

"That's kind of you, Harry. It means a lot to Molly and I to know you're safe and happy with our family," he added, and Harry smiled and kicked at the side of the porch, looking at the beaten down grass. Arthur was reminded quite forcibly of the fact that this young man was, for all his heroics and fighting, really still shy when it came to his feelings. He wasn't too different from Ron, hiding his crush on Hermione for what Molly had guessed once at five years, only for Harry, it was showing affection for parental figures.

"You might find that your feelings about being an Auror are still there, once you've recovered and gotten back on your feet. Some people are made to protect others, and whether I like it or not, I have the feeling you'll always be drawn to making sure no one tries to step into Tom Riddle's shoes," he offered, and Harry looked back up before nodding in agreement and sighing.

"I figured as much, to be honest. I just don't know how Ginny will take it," he muttered, and Arthur smiled. _Ah, so here was the root of the problem_. He had guessed this was coming back in Ron's fifth, but somehow, Harry had taken an awfully long time to recognize just how perfect his little girl was. Arthur had the feeling that his daughter's hesitancy had a lot more to do with fear of being left behind again than what Harry seemed to be thinking when he'd eyed her hugging Neville and talking to him time and again.

"So what are you going to do?" he prodded, and Harry looked up.

"I dunno. I told her how I feel, and I thought we were fine. Now she keeps hiding from me, and I can't seem to say anything around her. And I guess I wonder if maybe I hurt her too much when I had to leave, if maybe . . . maybe she found someone else to fix that," he whispered. Arthur was silent, trying to decide how much to say without giving Harry an easy time of it. It wouldn't do for the young man he was hoping would one day be his son-in-law to have things handed to him; if he was going to be with the last remaining Prewett witch- which Arthur knew better than anyone was more than most wizards could handle- Harry was going to need to know Ginny's needs like he knew his own, and he was going to need to get there on his own.

"Harry, I think if you talk to her, she'll tell you how she feels. Ginny had an extremely painful and traumatic year, and though I think we all know this now, you leaving her didn't keep her safer. I appreciate the gesture as a father, because loving Molly, I know exactly how hard it is to stay away from a Prewett witch when you love her," he paused, and Harry chuckled.

"They have the same eyes," he remarked, and Arthur grinned. "I can never fight against Mrs. Weasley because all I do is see Ginny's eyes staring back at me, and suddenly, I can't come up with any excuses not to do what she wants."

Arthur let out a laugh and eyed Harry with mirth. "Oh, just wait until she gives you that look after you show up late for something and you feel like those eyes are trying to blast you through the wall," he chuckled, and Harry shook his head, grinning.

"The point is, Harry, you two have been apart for a year. It's likely you've both changed, and after all, how could you not change, with what both of you have been through? But if I know my daughter at all, the way she looks at you across the dinner table says an awful lot to me. I think that she needs some reassurance that you're really going to stay this time, and not run off to save the world, or become an auror, or go . . . oh, I don't know- play professional quidditch in some place she can't even Apparate to on weekends. My Ginny had a wild independent streak, just like her mother- but that doesn't mean they don't like it when someone else takes care of them, as long as it's caring and not coddling."

Harry seemed to perk up at this, and got up from the chair, stretching, as the sounds of Molly coming down the stairs seeped in. Arthur quickly pulled his feet down from the table, causing Harry to crack up as Molly walked into the kitchen, her hair flying out from under her cap and her feet clad in pink slippers.

"Morning, dear. Shall I start breakfast this morning?" Arthur asked, kissing Molly on her cheek and grabbing a pan off the stove.

"Eggs and bangers, love. And toast for Harry, though Godric knows you need to eat more than just bread," she directed warningly, and Harry chuckled and put down his cold tea. He loped around the table as Arthur summoned a tray of eggs from the pantry and set down his bowl and whisk from the cupboard.

"Thanks, Mum," he whispered, hugging her from behind her chair as she sat, and Arthur saw Molly start in surprise before she beamed with leaky eyes at the door Harry had run through following his abrupt endearment.

"Oh, Arthur," she gushed, staring at the door where he'd left. "I didn't think he'd ever . . ."

"I know, love. I know."


	56. Homeward Bound

Thanks again to my reviewers- it's so nice to hear feedback and to know my story is being read! Have a good day everyone, and please take just a second at the end to let me know what you think!

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56

Hannah

"You know, I think he's done a wonderful job," she sighed quietly, brushing back the lank brown locks and pulling a few gnarls out with the comb. "He's nervous about something, I can tell, but for now I'll let him keep it to himself. I don't know who he got his mysterious streak from, but I don't see anything wrong with letting him keep things to himself when he wants to. My Mum would probably say something like that's indicative of a disloyal or manipulative person, but I've got no problem with him having his own secrets."

The woman nodded several times, leaning back and forward, back and forward, and let out a quiet whimper.

"Oh, I'm sorry, did I hurt you? I'll have to be more gentle, right? I can try that. So let's see. I've told you about the battle, and how brave Neville was; I've told you about Mrs. Longbottom, well- erm, you know, the other Mrs. Longbottom- your mother-in-law- and how the nurse said she should be well enough to visit next week, and then of course there's Da, as always- I do want to go home again soon to visit, but I kind of got the feeling like so much magic in one night was a bit strong of a reminder for him. I don't want him to push me away just because my magic reminds him of- of Mum, and all that. So I guess it's probably best if I get my own place, like Neville suggested. Actually, he wanted me to come live with him, now that his Gran is staying here with both of you, but I didn't think it would be right. Not that I don't love your son," she assured Alice, pulling the brush resolutely through her hair as the woman rocked backward once more, her knees making little jerking motions each time. Hannah had been worried at first that they would fall off the bed before Neville got back from visiting his Gran.

"I do love him, very much," she said softly, "but I don't think I could handle it if his Gran caught on that we were living together, and I don't much like having names thrown at me. Plus, this way, I can have my own place and Nev can come visit me anytime he likes, just like I'm visiting you."

There was silence in reply, but Hannah didn't mind. I was nice almost, in a soothing sort of way, to have no one asking her prying questions or trying to convince her of what she should do.

"I suppose I ought to finish up those sheets I was changing for your husband. I wanted to get him washed up, too- I think he'd feel better if he had a clean shirt on, for one thing. I know they change you both every day and scourgify you, but I always like the feeling of being clean after a bath-" here she blushed, thankful once more that her companions could not make any inferences from her behavior. If Neville's Gran had been here, she'd have been after Hannah like a hawk for that sunset across her cheeks at the mention of "bath".

"There we go," Hannah crooned gently, pulling Frank's shirt up and unbuttoning it to slip it off. He was built much like Neville, strong and wide across the chest but with lanky arms. Hannah took a sponge and wrung it out, taking care to scrub gently. To her surprise, Frank began to hum as she worked, and soon, she was humming back.

"Did I tell you he's got your eyes, Alice? He's very shy, sometimes, but when he needs to be the leader, everything else just melts away. All I can see is how intense he gets, how powerful he looks when he's trying to figure something out or make something work. He's like that in herbology, too- only then it takes on this sort of fatherly affection. You should see him talk to his plants. It's like they're his kids, and he's scolding them for not reaching his growth goals this week. He'll mix different fertilizers for hours out in that greenhouse and not be bothered a bit by the smell. Keeps telling me I'll get used to it," here she let her nose scrunch up in memory of Neville's week long love of dragon dung.

"I don't mind the dirt, I mean, I love plants almost as much as he does- but I think he's got a bit high off that stuff. Came home all excited, swept me off my feet and started kissing me- and no girl likes to be kissing a bloke when he smells like he just dueled a dragon and lost to the end without the fire," she chuckled. Frank hummed louder and she could have sworn she saw a smile flicker across his face, but seconds later Hannah was sure she had imagined it. She massaged his back and dried him off, taking care to button each button up the new shirt she'd brought. It was blue to bring out his eyes, and she thought he might enjoy having normal clothes on for a change, even if it was only up top. She combed his hair and pulled out the pictures she'd brought of Neville and herself at the memorial service with the others.

"I thought you might like to have some of Neville, so I made copies. I'll leave them here in case you want to see them," she said softly, and then she turned to gather up her bag and leave before Neville could come back in and find her 'doing it again,' as he'd put it so succinctly. Hannah had come to meet his parents just a week before, when Neville needed to get his Gran settled into the spell damage ward. It was a mark of how much he'd grown that when he saw the ward off in the distance, he'd pulled her over quietly and asked her if she was ready to meet his parents. Though their listless stares had tugged at her heart and made her feel sick at first, she'd quickly brushed it aside seeing Neville sit down beside his silent father and explain that his Mum was in the hospital, but that "Gran will be fine once she's all healed up."

She'd watched him change the sheets for his mother and something in her had snapped. Emotion rushed out see his sturdy shoulders buckle for a second when his mother held out a gum wrapper that had been colored on, and Neville blushed just faintly as he accepted it, pocketing it quickly. He'd brought her more crayons to "relax with" as he put it, and a new recordall ball from a wizarding symphony for his father to listen to. They were little gifts, he'd told her, but sometimes that was all he could do. It hurt her heart to see him pull out a coloring book for his mother with a slight grin and flip open to a page with chickens on it.

"I don't know why, but she loves coloring in farm animals. Gran wouldn't tell me if she grew up on a farm," he sighed, and Hannah grabbed his hand and tried to show him how much she was impressed by his devotion.

Now, it seemed like the simplest thing in the world to want to help them. She wasn't doing much- but putting out crayons for Alice and brushing her hair, and giving Frank a bath and a clean shirt seemed like the things she should be doing. Hannah packed up her bag and turned to sneak back to the welcome witch's room to wait for Neville, who should have escaped his Gran's fifteenth question about his future plans by now, when she saw his figure leaning by the door.

He was smiling, a soft, deep smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, but he didn't seen angry. He took in the coloring book she had folded under her elbow and reached out to take the bag.

"I'm sorry, love, I should have told you," she muttered, but he waved it away.

"It was . . . nice. I'm just sad they can't really appreciate it," he said, but she looked up at him.

"Alice bobbed back and forth for me, like she was dancing. And Frank hummed. They're little things, but I think they're communicating," she said, and Neville looked over at her sharply and dropped the coloring book.

"Dad was humming?" he exclaimed, picking up the book, and Hannah saw his hands shake a bit.

"Yes, he was humming a song. I recognized the tune, I just couldn't remember what it was called," she said, and she looked at Neville curiously before he grasped her hand at the apparition gate.

She was pulled through a thin tube, the air sucked out of her, and then suddenly she was standing in front of a building she'd never seen before. She had just enough time to realize they were in Diagon Alley, as they were down the street from a noisy Leaky Cauldron that seemed to be overflowing with witches and wizards celebrating, before Neville pulled her inside the door and started up the steps two at a time.

"Nev- wait up- sweetheart," she panted, trying to catch up to his long legs.

Neville didn't slow down, but he did stop altogether until she bumped into him and then he lifted her onto his back, laughing at her surprised shriek.

He jostled her into a more comfortable position and continued to climb the stairs, ignoring both her laughter and her interrupted pleas for him to set her down.

"Where are we going, anyway? Nev, if this is your idea of a date, you've got another thing coming-" she argued, beginning to feel exasperated at the lack of purpose. Neville plonked her down beside him, catching her before she stumbled off the top stair, and drew her close. As always, whenever he wrapped his arms around her, her breathing quickened and she felt a bit dizzy locked up against him so tightly.

"Welcome home," he chuckled, bending down to kiss her, and she couldn't even think about what he meant when he was kissing her like that. Lips parted her own, slightly salty and warm, and her mind ran a million miles as his hand traced a line straight up her back and the other grasped her bum and pulled her closer. Hannah pulled away with an audible 'pop' and shook her head like a dog out of water, looking at the door.

"What the-?" she questioned, looking at his proud face, but Neville just grinned and opened the door with a tap of his wand.

"Well, you never said we couldn't get a place together, you just insisted you wouldn't move into my house," he jibed with a little grin, and Hannah looked at the room, speechless.

It was a small, cozy place, a living room the size of a third of the common room with a fireplace and a sofa and two armchairs. There was a table with some chairs in the room beyond, and she could see the side of kitchen cupboards peeking out beyond, a cheery yellow with deep blue trim. A huge bay window poured the last of the evening sunlight into the room over the couch, which was a rich brown and turquoise suede like the chairs, and matched the rug underneath. A honey colored table sat low by the window, some mail and an owl post and cage setting atop it, and she saw several hooks on the wall that were holding up- what else- plants that were clearly Neville's own cuttings from the greenhouses. No wonder he'd spent so much time repotting this week, she thought to herself wryly. Hannah walked silently into the kitchen, feeling overwhelmed by a flood of thoughts as she noted the cutting board and the pots and pans hanging from hooks on the ceiling over the stove. It was a cast-iron antique, likely to have seen better days, but she had no doubt that with a bit of magic, it would do the trick. She turned back to see Neville watching her anxiously, his earlier cocky manner completely vanished. Smiling internally, she decided to make him wait through a few more moments of fear at her reaction to such a big, bold step in their relationship while she went to see their bedroom.

_Their bedroom_. The thought sent chills through her. Granted, it wasn't as if they hadn't gotten most of the way there . . . practically stopped at the threshold each time, for one reason or another- mostly things involved with "getting caught by Seamus" or "having to stop because of a battle for life or death," or "getting caught by Seamus because he needs us for a battle for life or death," but that hadn't stopped them from doing some pretty amazing things in Hannah's opinion. The last night she'd had him all to himself, post-Hogwarts battle and tired but relieved, she'd felt sure her toes were permanently curled. Neville was always so sure of himself now, but it was the moments where he seemed to need her permission to continue- _like he wanted to know she wanted him_- were what made him so special to her. Last night he'd stopped her from taking their heated goodnight snog to something more with a secretive "we should wait," that left her wondering where the Neville of a month before had gone, but now, she knew exactly why her normally happy-to-please boyfriend had decided to take an early night. He was waiting for the chance to bring her _home_.

Hannah's eyes skimmed over the final room. She'd given the loo a cursory glance that allowed her just enough time to see several green plants hanging from the ceiling, a small sink with a potions cabinet above it, and a green shower curtain that had blue sponge designs on it. She stopped, wide-eyed, staring at the huge expanse of bed that stretched before her, trying not to let all the things she was thinking show on her face. It was certainly a double, and Neville had gotten lovely blue and white sheets for the bed, striped, and a huge down comforter. She was overcome with the desire to bounce on it. It looked perfectly springy. There was a wooden desk in the corner, well-made, and a bookshelf half filled with his herbology texts. A gorgeous orchid, pink with orange centered blossoms, was growing from a window box surrounded by blue curtains that Neville must have not picked out, because they were horribly dusty, and a dresser made from the same dark cherry wood as the desk was sitting in the corner. She felt a chill run through her at the excitement of it; they were starting a life together. She was never going to be just Hannah again. When she went home, she would tell her friends she was going home to Neville. Though as she thought of it, Hannah smiled- she had been going home to Neville for ages in her mind, if she was honest with herself.

A scuff sounded behind her, and she turned slowly, remembering Neville was still here. She fought the urge to laugh at the expression on his face; clearly, he had worked himself into believing that her silence equaled disgust for his rather impetuous decision. Hannah sobered when she saw him pale further and reached out to pull him close, wrapping her hands around his waist. Neville looked down on her with big eyes that begged for her to put him out of his misery, and Hannah sighed and burrowed into his chest, feeling his hands run through her hair and pull out the ribbon at the end of each braid. She smiled against him. She knew he liked her hair down, and she loved the way he seemed compelled to undo her braid every place they were together, no matter how short the time. Neville's hands ran down the braid, tugging gently to let her hair fall loose around her shoulders.

"It's perfect, Neville."

He relaxed against her, and she chuckled. "You thought I wouldn't like it?" she whispered, and he settled his head on top of hers.

"I was worried you would think it was too much. I don't want you to feel pressured, Hannah, I mean, it's not like we have to do anything . . . you know, I mean . . . if you're not ready . . . I'll be more than happy to make you toast every morning and water the plants too much," he smiled, and Hannah sighed as he bent down to kiss her nose. She was trying to put into words how much it meant to her that he wanted to be with her- really wanted to be with her, every day- and she was failing spectacularly. It was clear he'd put a lot of work into this, and she had been thrilled to see the little things he'd done to make it perfect for her- the green towels in the bathroom that matched her eyes- the lamp by the poufy chair so she could read in the evenings curled up- the orchids that were her favorites- that she felt her eyes sting. Could you die from happiness? She wondered, and she bit her lip, trying to decide. Did she dare?

Neville must have noticed the change in the way she held herself, because he stiffened just barely as she leaned up to kiss him soundly. Her lips ran over his, trying to express what it meant to her- and she wrapped her body against his tight and pulled his face down to hers, holding it gently in her hands.

Neville groaned when her tongue flitted against his and traced over his bottom lip. She drew it into her mouth, sucking and then nipping at his lip, and his hands went lower immediately and grabbed her hips, firm and warm.

"Neville?" she breathed, feeling his kisses on her neck begin to send her senses reeling. He didn't open his eyes, but kept on placing light, feathery kisses over her pulse point, his fingers running over her arse and back and down to clamp her hips against his all over. Hannah looked over at the bed, the blue and white sheets so fluffy and soft, and made up her mind.

With a startled yelp they tumbled into the bed, and Neville's legs went up in the air as she grabbed him to her, pulling him down. Neville had clearly not anticipated her ninja move and had awkwardly rolled half-way off the bed, his head landing against her belly as her legs dangled off the side. Hannah's head grumbled at the loss of his lips on her and she pulled herself up to look down at him, where he was crouched by her side, his head on her stomach. Neville pulled his face up, looked her in the eye, and started laughing. Hannah took one look at his ridiculous position and couldn't hold in the chuckles.

"I guess it wouldn't be us, otherwise," Hannah laughed, stroking his hair and gazing down at his eyes, transfixed by the happiness she saw reflected there. Neville's face grew intense, fixed on hers, and she reddened for just a second when she saw his gaze drift down to take in all of her.

"No, it wouldn't be us," he murmured, sliding up flush against her body to lean over her and take her mouth. Hannah gasped just barely as heat washed through her and she felt her knees tremble a bit against his legs. He kissed her slow, like liquid running over her body, and it ran through her like nectar, dripping onto her thighs and her calves, tingling down her spine, rushing into her chest and fingers and face. She felt her body take over her mind as swiftly as a river racing itself to the ocean, only this time, she wasn't going to stop it. He drew back just an inch away and looked down at her, asking her to be his, and she felt a smile spread across her face.

"How about we celebrate our first night in our new apartment by breaking in the bed?" she asked, her eyes glittering, and Neville swept over her in a rush, claiming her lips with a searing kiss. He wasn't asking her to be his, her mind floated past as her body responded. She already was, she thought with a smile, and he knew it; he was just looking to her to acknowledge it, to pay reverence to the beauty they shared. Hannah shivered against him, feeling a few tears slip out as she realized where they were.

_Home_.


	57. The Search for Wendell and Monica Wilkin

57

Ron

"Honestly, Mione, you've got four scarves and a shiteload of those pack thingies . . . don't you think that's enough?"

Four years ago he would have flinched internally at the glare she threw him before she muttered about his language, but by now, Ron knew that she was mostly bark and no bite: at least, unless it was Malfoy, he thought with a grin. Hermione was standing with her hair pulled back in a low ponytail and filling her shopping bag, which was already overloaded, with scarves for his mother and sister and Fleur and these strange magical packs that could expand to hold "enough of your Mum's food to feed an army," as she had put it, for the men. That wasn't saying much, as he'd pointed out; his Mum hardly cooked lately without making enough for a small infantry division. That wasn't to say her cooking had been good; sadly enough, he'd noticed that on days she cried more, her potatoes were lumpy and the toast was burned, though no one said anything. She overcompensated by making exorbitant amounts of treacle tart and biscuits and such, but Ron knew it was just to keep her busy. He turned back to Hermione and rolled his eyes as she examined a second option for his father: a muggle can opener.

"Mione, why are you stalling?"

She snapped back to look at him and gave him another glare.

"I'm not stalling, I just want to get the presents for your family out of the way. We said we wanted to bring them something back and it's not like the Australian Aurors have found them yet; plus, you just wanted to sit in the hotel room all day. If I'd known the ruckus it would cause I never would have shown you how to work the telly," she sighed, and Ron walked up behind her.

"I know we haven't found them yet, but we will soon, and when it does happen, do you really want to have to apparate back to the hotel and change and put the packages away? Doesn't really say much if we have to take an hour or two before we can get there," he grumbled, biting into a chocolate bar.

"RON! We haven't paid for it yet!" She argued, and he shrugged.

"I'll take the wrapper up later. What, I was hungry?"

"It's just not something you do!"

"Why not?"

"There aren't any tracking charms in Muggle shops! You can't just assume they'll be able to know you aren't stealing it!"

"Oh. Well, why wouldn't they just ask, 'are you trying to steal that chocolate bar?' After all, I'll tell 'em I'm not," he added, perplexed, and Hermione glared again and grabbed the wrapper, propelling herself to the cashier and setting down coins for the scarves. She'd already packed the bags away from the last shop, though Ron had the feeling that she might not have cleared out the beaded bag before they'd gone on the trip. Ron had heard a crash of books from inside the bag when he'd opened it to summon out some dittany for a burn Hermione had gotten trying to cook beans on toast. She really was an atrocious cook. He might have to learn to do it himself at this rate.

"Mione, do you want to go back to the room? I want to see if we have any owls," he asked, putting down money for the candy bar and ignoring her splutter as he pushed hers back to her purse. He dumped the coins in and they fell to the bottom, making an odd clanging noise as if they'd fallen six feet down to land on a cauldron. Ron chuckled as Hermione turned beet red under the scrutiny of the muggle cashier, who was a sixteen year old chewing gum like a cow with her cud.

"Right, thanks so much!" Mione exclaimed before she dragged him from the shop. They were halfway down the street when she rounded on him.

"Could you have made that any more obvious? She's got to be wondering why it sounded like that!"

"Calm down. You're upset about your parents but it's going to be fine, love. I know you hate waiting, but we're going to find them. It's only the second day, after all."

Hermione slumped beside him and shook her head, her eyes filling with tears.

"I almost don't want to," she whispered, and Ron looked down at her anxious face and made a decision.

"Stay here for a minute. I'll take the bags," he said, shoving them quietly into the beaded bag.

"Have you got any dresses in there?"

Hermione stared at him.

"Why would I need a dress?"

"Never mind. Just pull out something nice and go change in the loo over there. I'll be back in a flash," he pointed, and Hermione eyed him curiously and grabbed a cerulean blue dress from the pack and a pair of matching heels.

"Just trust me, Mione. I promise, you'll like this," he said.

He watched her walk back into the bathroom and quickly walked into the gift shop where tourists were congregating.

"Excuse me," he asked, motioning a young travel agent over.

"My girlfriend and I wanted to see some sights tomorrow but I wasn't sure what would be best. Do you have any places with beaches? She'd love to eat dinner out, too," he explained, and the dark haired gentleman pulled out a handful of colorful pamphlets with bikini-clad girls on the front. Ron gazed over the first one and then shook his head.

"A bit more mature, please . . . she wouldn't fancy the scenery on these ones," he admitted, and the man pulled out a second set. The first image caught his eye- a seafood joint with a back porch that opened up to the beach.

"I'll take this one, and some change, please," he addressed, handing over a bill and hoping it was enough. The man looked up at him suspiciously and took out a marker, drawing a line through the bill.

"Sir, I'm sorry, but I don't have enough to break a bill this large. Do you perhaps have smaller bills?"

"Smaller? Well, maybe, but they're kinda all the same size, I think- see? All the same rectangles," but the man shook his head and looked irritated.

"Are you homeschooled?"

"Err, yeah, Kinda," Ron admitted with a lopsided grin.

"Let me see the bills you have. Sometimes people have trouble figuring out the exchange rate with the currency," and Ron handed over the billfold.

The man motioned over another salesman and the two pulled out his bills and counted them out for him, explaining that this was a hundred and this one was a thousand.

"Sorry, we didn't know how much we'd need. I haven't really had a lot of money before, so it's hard for me to judge. How much is all this, anyway?" he asked the men, keeping an eye on the restroom from the window. Hermione hadn't come out yet.

The first man explained that this was enough money to put a downpayment on a house, in some parts, and Ron flushed.

"I just need change for dinner, mates- can you make it with any of them?"

One of them nodded. "I have some twenties in my wallet, I can do it," he offered, and Ron watched them count out five bills for each hundred. Then he paid for his pamphlet and a light blue button up silky shirt that one of the men suggested would be more appropriate for the seafood restaurant. He pulled off his own shirt outside the gift shop and buttoned up the other quickly, stuffing his old tee into his bag. Then he took out the pamphlet and stared hard at the picture, memorizing how the place looked. He'd never apparated before to someplace he hadn't actually been to, but he understood the theory, and Hermione always said theory was enough to try.

Suddenly he felt a tug on his shirt and he turned. Hermione was standing next to him, shaking a bit and stark white in her blue dress.

"Ron, there was someone in the bathroom- definitely a wizard-" was all she could get out before he'd pulled her close and his wand was by his side. He faced the restroom she'd come from, his entire body tense.

"What did he do? What happened?" he demanded, worry washing over him at the sight of her pale face. The last time she'd looked like this had been when Harry had gone missing during the battle.

"He . . . he was trying to touch me. He knew who I was. I stunned him and put him in one of the stalls," she whispered, shakily, and Ron saw red.

"Did he hurt you?" he growled back, and she shook her head. "He grabbed my arm and started asking me questions, but I stunned him. I had to obliviate a girl who was in there, but she's fine . . ."

Ron stalked back, holding her close to him, his wand hand quivering. He wanted to rip the man apart for scaring her, but he had the feeling this was not a death eater. You could never be too careful, though, he reminded himself, and he made up his mind as he looked at her worried gaze.

"What are you going to do? Ron, we can't hurt him. You can't just-" but she was cut off by his murderous look.

"I can, but I won't. We're taking him back to the hotel and finding out how he knew we were here. Wait, scratch that- if he found us, someone else might know we're here, and the first place they'd trace us to is the hotel room. Wait here until I let you in," he said, pulling open the bathroom door and peeking in. No one was inside except for a pair of legs with dark men's shoes peeking out from under one of the stalls.

Ron eased into the bathroom. He sent a homenum revelio at the room, but only one presence glowed red where the man was stashed. With a quick flick a muggle repelling charm was sent out the door, and then he scourgified the blood on the floor that had dribbled from a small cut on the man's head. Evidently he'd hit his head from the force of the stunner. Ron bound him and searched his pockets, finding a wand and a notepad and quill. He looked over the first page of notes. It had their hotel name, the names of Ron's brothers, and a question mark after Ginny's name, with HP scribbled next to it. Ron pulled out a packet that crinkled when he opened it and stared down for a second at the pictures inside. Six different shots showed Harry and Ginny kissing under the oak tree and Ron with his hand up Hermione's shirt the day before from their hotel window, and he felt his face flush for a second before he shoved the man's wand in his back pocket and bagged the photos.

Ron hoisted the man onto his back and turned through thin air, apparating nearly silently into a field outside of the airport where they'd taken a walk while they were waiting for the Australian Aurors to meet them for lunch the day before. He unloaded his quarry under a tree and walked in a circle, whispering the incantations to set up the standard wards around them. Then he apparated back to the bathroom and walked out to see Hermione sitting on a park bench by the door, tensely eyeing passersby.

"Come on, love, I've got him out," he whispered, and she took his hand and walked back to disapparate. When he pulled her into the circle he'd made, she began to walk around to cast the spells, but he chuckled.

"I already did it all," he said, and she stared at him for a second before she cast a cushioning charm under the man and then sat down on a rock.

"Always the tone of surprise," he teased, and she grinned back for the first time, relaxing against him as he walked towards the man.

"Alright, let's enervate this bastard," he said, and Hermione pointed her wand at the man.

The man let out a groggy, faint moan and stretched and then tumbled over when he tried to sit up only to find his feet and arms bound.

"WHAT THE FUCK?" he roared, scrambling back away from Ron's wand, which was pointed right at his face, and Ron glared at him.

"Nice to finally meet you too. You've been following us. We didn't like it much," he gestured, and the man rolled back helplessly, trying to put more distance between them. His eyes ran over the scene, frantically looking for help, and Ron towered over him, leaning down with an angry stare, and pointed his wand at the man's nose. He went cross-eyed and sweat started beading on his forehead.

"Listen, I didn't mean to scare anybody, I just wanted to get the story," he started, but Ron cut him off.

"Well, you've got quite a story now, but I don't think you'll want to be telling it. Hermione and I do not need to have vultures like you following us and prying into our lives, and neither do Harry or my SISTER," he spat, and the man flinched and tried to cover his privates as Ron's wand trailed down, red sparks flicking from the end.

"How do we know you're not trying to do us in?" he growled, and the man shook and started begging to explain.

"Please, just let me show you my notes! I've got a press badge in my back pocket, I'm with the Daily Prophet!"

"Why should we believe you?" Ron asked, summoning the badge. He tossed it to Hermione, who twirled her wand over it and nodded to confirm it was genuine.

"Why are you following us?" Ron asked, his wand still giving off sparks.

"You all have no idea? The public's going mad! They want to know about the people who saved them! You're almost as big as Potter right now, and that's saying something! I mean, come on, did you really think you could lie low forever?"

Ron shook his head, feeling helpless even though he held the wand. Yes, he had expected the reporters to start camping outside the Burrow, and he'd been barraged by admirers by owl post the same as Hermione, Harry, and even Ginny, but he hadn't been expecting some random reporter to follow his girlfriend into the loo in Australia, for Merlin's sake! Clearly, they would need to take more precautions. The thought of what would have happened if the man hadn't been just a swotty prat struck him, and he looked at Hermione with fear, trying to hold back his anxiety. What if she hadn't pulled her wand fast enough? They could have apparated her away in seconds and he never would have seen her again, never would have known what had happened to her.

"I get it, I get it, just untie me! I'll leave you alone!" the man argued, but Ron shook his head.

"You don't get it just yet. My friends and I," he stopped, gesturing to Hermione, "just went through hell last year to make sure arses like you could be safe. Harry almost died and my brother d-did! You will leave us alone if you know what's good for you, because I can promise that my sister won't be as forgiving!"

He pointed his wand at the man's forehead and purple pustules appeared, and Hermione laughed behind him as the man kept shrieking, asking what he was doing. Ron cut the cords and the wizard scrambled up, backing away from him.

"What the hell did you do?" he asked, touching his forehead and yelling again. A big purple "P" was followed by an "R", "A", and finally a "T". Hermione rolled on the grass, clutching her stomach and laughing.

"Just gave you a little reminder of why you shouldn't be sneaking around after people," Ron shot back, and the man walked over to the river, trying to see his face.

"Write anything about us or pester us again, or ANYONE in my family, and it'll be permanent. And trust me, you don't want that on your head for dates," he chortled.

"Ron, you can't just leave it on him!" Hermione appeased, and Ron laughed.

"Sure I can! It'll wear off in a few weeks- after the other reporters get the idea," he added, grinning wide as the man looked at him in horror.

"Please, can I just have my wand back?" he asked, begging, and Ron tossed the bugger's wand into the middle ground, waving his wand to set up a ward between the man and his weapon.

"It'll fall after we leave, and you can get it then. I wouldn't try to follow us back to the hotel- I'll be unleashing my girlfriend on you. She's the one who invented that sticking spell for the pimples, by the way- no counter curse, in case you're wondering. You just have to wait until the spell fades," he laughed, and then he grasped Hermione's hand and apparated her to their hotel room. Hermione grabbed their bags and shrunk them, then she directed her wand at Ron and changed his hair color and lengthened his nose.

"Oh, come off it, it's long enough," he argued, flicking his wand to make her hair blonde and straight. He eyed her chest for a second with a grin and began to flick his wand, but she launched herself at him with a growl.

"Don't you dare think of it. It's not funny, Ron- they already get in my way as it is, and I don't need to bust this bra," she argued, and Ron shook his head, trying to rid himself of the image of Hermione's tits busting out of her bra.

"Oh, for Heaven's sake," she mumbled, sending her hair red as she looked with disgust at the blonde model hair he'd given her.

"Now we're like brother and sister," she added, giving herself a spray of freckles and changing her eyes to blue.

"Love, do you really want to be my sister? Think about that for a minute," he asked, watching her face blush with a grin.

"Right, well, let's just focus on paying for the room and moving to someplace where that git can't find us," she said, and he looked down at the lobby. The man wasn't there, but another likely reporter was sitting suspiciously on a chair, the muggle paper he held upside down, a wand tapping at this foot. Every other minute he'd look up.

"Looks like that bloke wasn't our only admirer," Ron pointed out, and he grimaced when she gasped, giving them away, and quickly covered her mistake with a snog. The man continued to shake his foot, looking at the paper with glazed eyes that spoke of staying up late into the night, and Ron pulled Hermione into the men's loo in the lobby.

"I'll go find us a new place. Get our room paid and meet me back in here in five," he asked, and she nodded and grabbed her wallet. Ron shook his head and grabbed her hand, and handed her a hundred pound note from his own. Hermione glared.

"We're finding my parents, Ronald, and I'll be paying for our trip," she argued, but Ron looked back at her equally firm.

"You spent all your savings last year to keep Harry and I fed and I'm not forgetting it. And anyway, I have tons of money from the reward and fans- I know, I know, you're getting it too. I just- Hermione, why can't I get this one chance to take care of you? It's only one night to pay for," he pleaded, and she softened at his tone and relaxed against him.

"Fine. But I'm paying for the floo fees on the way back, your Dad shouldn't have done it in the first place," she mumbled, and Ron grinned. It was bloody brilliant having money. He hadn't even seen this much before- it just kept on coming. Harry had pulled them both aside and forced each of them to take a portion of Sirius' vault, claiming it was in thanks for clearing his name with the end of the war, and Ron wasn't fooled, but he wasn't about to turn away half a million galleons just because Harry was too nice. He knew what his friend was trying to say with the gesture, and while Hermione had gotten all flustered and argued with Harry for days before accepting, Ron understood in a second that it wouldn't be right to do anything but accept it and say thank you. Harry wanted to help in the only way he could, so Ron had spent a thousand galleons in the first night on a new kitchen for his Mum with George's help. They also bought Ginny's birthday present, a new firebolt with her name inscribed on the handle, and Holyhead Harpies' colors. George was going to ride it in for her birthday and set off fireworks over the table.

Hermione turned around and left the loo, and Ron apparated out to the beach area he'd memorized and luckily found no occupants in the alley pictured beside the restaurant. He booked a table inside and a room upstairs, then forwarded their location to the Australian Auror team with a patronus that mentioned the security break from the reporters. Ron opened his bag and charmed each of the incriminating photos to be blank unless he pulled the charm back; he wanted Harry to know what they were up against, but the thought of unleashing his little sister on the reporters seemed wrong somehow. They'd never know what had hit them if Ginny ever got wind that there were strange men taking pictures of her walks with Harry. It bothered Ron even more, however, that the reporters could get close enough- clearly, they were going to need to extend the wards. Perhaps now that he had money, he could buy up some of the vacant lots surrounding the Burrow and maybe even build a house of his own for himself and Mione. The thought brought a giant grin to his face.

Putting his bag on the bedside table, he cast wards around the room and used the loo, brushing his hair with a comb to make it presentable, and then he apparated back to the men's in the hotel lobby. Hermione was waiting in the lobby and followed him back to the men's after he cleared his throat the second time. She almost hadn't recognized him with the altered hair.

He hugged her close in the men's loo and apparated out to their hotel room, and Hermione walked out to the porch and then turned back, grinning.

"OOO! Ron, we have our own balcony! Oh, look at the beach!"

"Yeah, there's a restaurant downstairs- some kind of crab and lobster joint. I thought we could have a nice meal and take a walk, see if you can unwind a bit," he tried to say nonchalantly, but Mione saw through it as always.

"This is wonderful," she beamed, drawing closer. "Thank you," she whispered, and she kissed him. Ron could feel her lips smile under his. He drew her up against him so she was hanging onto her tip-toes to reach him and then he released her.

"Do you want to freshen up, or should we go down to dinner?"

"No, I'm hungry now. Do you think we should owl the aurors to tell them we've switched?"

"Already contacted 'em. They know about the reporter, I put a tracking charm on him and sent it to the bloke who had the weird cowboy hat. He's going to look into questioning him on charges of stalking," he replied, and Mione relaxed beside him, letting out a puff of breath.

"I guess it's for the best, though I wonder what the Auror will think of your pimple punishment," she teased, and Ron shrugged.

"Should we go down? I'm starved."

"Oh, Ron. When are you not starved?" she sighed, but it was such an old joke that neither of them acknowledged it.

"Right. Let's fill your stomach," she admonished, giggling when he kissed her cheek, and they walked down to dinner.

Four hours later, Ron was lying on his back, feeling excessively full and happy. Hermione was humming next to him, curled up in the nook of his shoulder and arm-(gulp!) _naked_- and he couldn't stop the grin plastered on his face. If someone had told him a year ago that all he needed to do was arrange a nice dinner and take her out for a walk on a beach to get Hermione to go crazy for him, he would have suggested a rather different location for many of their camps while horcrux hunting. It was almost alarming how good he felt; his entire body was sated in a way no wanking- even to thoughts of Hermione-moaning-in-the-shower, Hermione-beating-up-Malfoy, or Hermione-accompanied-with-a-Cannons-Victory had caused. It was as though he, Ron Weasley, dorky prefect, sub-par Keeper, and friend of the Boy Who Lived had watched from above as a new, suave Ron swept the girl of his dreams off her feet and then got covered in sweet kisses. One thing was for certain, though- he was never going to look at her the same way again. Bookish she might be, but his girl had proven for once and all that she was certainly not lacking in feminine whiles. Nor did she have any silly notions of retaining her virginity for marriage that Ron had simply assumed a girl like Hermione would expect from him. And Thank Godric, he thought silently, kissing her shoulder, that she didn't.

Somewhere between the lobster, the chocolate tira-missy cake thingy that Ron had thought was genius, and sinking their toes into the warm sand together before the setting purplish sun, Hermione had dropped the stress from her frame and her eyes had begun to glow, and he had started making jokes that neither of them could seem to stop laughing to. He'd wrapped his arms around her on the beach chairs, loving the feel of holding her and elated to have her so happy next to him, and then she'd become- there wasn't any other word for it- fidgety. He'd finally asked her if she was sunburnt and itchy when she twitched for the fifth time, knocking the wind out of him, and she'd chuckled and kissed his throat.

"Nope, not sunburned. I put on suntan lotion six different times, Ron, I remember you watching," she spoke with a lilting voice, and then she snuggled up against him further.

"Well, then, why are you so twitchy?"

"I just want to go inside," she admitted, and Ron's heart sunk. He thought she'd liked the beach.

It became clear once they got upstairs that no, he had been correct; Hermione did indeed like the beach. Ron rolled over and wrapped his arms around her on the bed, pulling the covers up to their shoulders and brushing her wild hair back behind her ear. Her side rose and fell methodically, gently, and he realized she was asleep.

He hadn't really gotten all that many chances to study Hermione, even though anyone else he could have told this to would have scoffed him. Of course, he got to _look_ at her- he was around her all the time- but until recently, he couldn't _stare_ at her and study her face and her walk and her body the way he wanted to. Now, with no reason to keep his eyes to himself, he could admire all her wanted. It was a wonderful new world, with a Hermione who loved holding him, kissing him, touching him- _loved him_- and he was definitely going to enjoy getting to spend every waking moment with her.

He extricated himself carefully to use the loo and came back to bed, shucking on his shorts and climbing under the covers. He had closed his eyes when a silvery glow lit up behind his eyelids, and he squinted them open, looking at the strange little grey bear with the huge ears that was waddling toward their bed.

"Granger parents located- west of Sydney, 224 Jigarra Street, Apt. C. We await your patronus for confirmation and any assistance you may require," it spoke, and then faded away.

Ron looked down at Hermione's sleeping figure. She had been stress-free for a single night, and now, she was about to wake up to what could only be described as a thoroughly unpleasant experience. He tried to imagine what Molly would be like if he'd modified her memory and sent her halfway across the world, then put himself through a war they couldn't understand. It wasn't a pretty picture. Sighing, Ron shook her gently until she blearily looked up at him.

"Come on, Love, they've found them," he whispered.

Hermione shot out of bed and her hair seemed to balloon out to cover half her face as she ricocheted across the room to the loo, demanding that he get dressed, find the beaded bag, contact the auror office and comb his hair in the same breath.

"Merlin, woman, just calm down!" he pleaded, and Hermione's head emerged from the loo, half her hair slicked down with water and dripping onto the floor.

"Just because your parents are safe and sound doesn't mean mine are!" she cried, and Ron refrained from either mentioning Fred or reminding her that her parents had no idea she existed, and thus wouldn't know if she took an extra ten minutes to get there.

"Right, we need to get there before your hair sprouts tentacles," he murmured, and she shot him a nasty look. Ron sighed, sliding jeans on and a jumper and sending a covert cheering charm at her from the bed.

"Now probably isn't the time to ask what you'll be like when you're pregnant, is it?"

"RON!"


	58. Meet Me Under the Willow Tree

57

Harry

* * *

"GINNY! STOP, PLEASE!"

He rushed over the roots of a tree, coming close to tripping, and his seeker's reflexes caught him against the top bit of a branch, righting his center.

"LET ME EXPLAIN!"

He stumbled forward, running, winded even though just a month before he'd sprinted for hours in battle without a second to gasp in a breath. Ginny's lithe form was scrambling madly away from him, her shoulders tense and shaking, and her hair whipped wildly like fire following her steps. She pivoted between the close-knit grove of trees, stepping under a willow and disappearing behind its cascade of boughs. He reached the hidden sanctuary two seconds later, and stopped short- she was gone.

_Gone_. His eyes swept over the area, looking for telltale movement, but there was nothing. Birds called in the distance, the only sound filling the sudden silence of the empty world about him. Gone.

But maybe not too far gone.

His breathing slowed as he paced around the inner circle of the long, bright green shoots that swept down, arching around him. They swayed lightly, not by human hands but by the barest breath of wind that could reach this far into the forest behind the Burrow. Harry's hands fell to his sides, and he felt tears, unbidden, forming in his eyes.

"I'm not asking for you to forgive me for leaving you. I'm not asking you to stop hurting. I just want to tell you why I'm doing this, what it really means," he began, and laughter- painful, wet, coughing laughter, filled his ears. Harry tensed. She was up in the tree, looking down on him.

"Why should I listen, Harry? Why did I listen to you at Dumbledore's funeral? All that 'being with you is like living a dream?' tosh you fed me? If you were never really coming _back_, you should have TOLD me, Harry," she spat.

"I didn't say anything I didn't mean," he pleaded, but Ginny was venomous.

"But that's just it, Harry! You never mean to hurt anybody! Ron was always second best behind you, but it wasn't your fault! Hermione was too afraid that starting a relationship with him would stop her from helping YOU! Neville and Luna were so worried, wondering where you'd gone, if you were alive-" her voice cracked, and Harry's eyes searched the trees, hoping to see signs of a disillusionment charm shimmering in the half-light that filtered down.

"You don't mean to hurt people, Harry, we all know! But you DO!" she cried, and Harry felt tears slipping down his cheeks.

"You're right," he sighed. "I hurt you, Ginny. I know it."

Silence fell, and he could hear her sniffles in the background, light- almost as if they were dreamt, not real- and immense pain filled him, as always- the regret that he could not keep her safe, that despite every moment he'd denied himself with her that last year, she had been through hell, alone and scared for him, at Hogwarts. Surrounded by enemies- his enemies- who knew what it was doing to her.

"Harry-" her voice cracked again, and he felt a rip of pain run through him. "I can't keep doing it, I can't- I can't keep not knowing what you want," she sobbed, and Harry sat down against the knarled, ancient trunk, feeling the bark scrape into his back.

Overwhelming fear tangled with hope and shame in his stomach, pooled in his mind, forcing his mouth open and closed again. She needed him. He needed her. Why had this always been so difficult? Why could he never tell anyone he loved them until they were gone?

A limb cracked above and his head shot up, concern filling him. Branches rustled, but if she had moved, she was too quick to be followed.

"Ginny?"

Silence.

Harry hung his head. She was gone. He buried his head in his hands. A surge of grief washed over him, and he gripped his head in his hands, rocking against the tree. Images of kissing her, that blazing look over her face, of sitting under their tree, of snuggling up in the common room and studying with her feet kicking his in the library and the way she looked that horrible night when George's ear was lost rushed through- seeing her kissing Dean- watching her fly, with that exhilarated joy that made him want to soar up to meet her- her dirty trouser knees, always worn through from Quidditch falls and grass stains- the way she chewed her quill when she didn't want to concentrate- everything he ever wanted to show her he loved about her came sweeping over him, claiming him, and he felt release surge up to meet his lips. They parted and he felt his mind think aloud for the thousandth time, "I love you, Ginny," but somehow, this time, he was saying it- whispering it like it was the most fervent of prayers, the most secret of admonitions- and something taunt inside him seemed to melt away, the feel of the words leaving his lips like a gentle caress.

"What?" came an answering whisper, too close to be above, but too far to be beside. His eyes snapped open.

He still couldn't see her, but he was sure he felt her, as surely as if she were sending off an electric current. Harry looked into the emptiness in the air surrounding him, focused as hard as he ever had to find the snitch, and then he saw it. A slight shimmer, ever so delicate, lost in the gleam of the sunlight on leaves- but still, he could see her, the famous Weasley blush melting into her cheeks even with the disillusionment hiding her.

He stood, eyeing her spot, seeing the outline of the curve of her cheek, the stillness of her shoulder and the barest trace of arm as she shifted from sitting to stand. He could feel her tension; she was getting ready to run for it.

"I don't want to leave you. I'm not doing this to go on another hunt or to get some excitement or because I think you're weak and you won't leave me. I'm doing it because I know you're leaving- you're going back, Ginny- and I want to be done with training when you're home from school. I want to be ready for you," he paused, turning the words over in his mouth- "ready for when you're ready for me," he stopped, waiting until they cooled in the air. Electricity seemed to buzz around him, humming in the air, and he could see her shimmer, still, across the ground on the other side of the tree. She wasn't moving, at least.

"Why can't you come back with me?" came her tiny voice, and Harry felt a spark of hope erupt within him before he quickly tampered it down.

"Gin, I- It's not that I don't want to spend the year with you- I don't really want anything so much as I've always wanted this- but I can't- I can't go back there again."

She was quiet, and Harry watched her, knowing that she had realized he could see her outline.

"Is it Fred?" she asked, but he shook his head.

A pause.

"You're done," she said, more an answer than a question, and he nodded.

"I wanted to talk to you before you found out. I wanted to ask you what you thought. I haven't actually taken the position yet," he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. Somehow he was worried about what she would think when she learned that he had held off the Minister of Magic for three weeks with the fact that he needed his "girlfriend's input" on something this big. It felt intrinsically _intimate_ to admit he wanted her happiness before his, that he put her opinion before his own.

"How long?" she asked, her voice taking on a sliver of normalcy, and Harry relaxed his shoulders.

"Bout half a month, maybe a bit more," he admitted, and he heard a soft sigh.

"Why didn't you ask me?"

Harry squirmed, feeling her invisible gaze leveling him. "I felt like you had enough to be dealing with,"

"Harry, I could tell. You do this thing with your smile when you're keeping things- it's just a little bit off, is all. But I knew something was wrong," Ginny argued. "I'd rather know."

"I know," he admitted. He shrugged, wishing he didn't sound so pathetic.

It was quiet again, but not with the same pounding panic it had been before. It was calm- charged, like a fire about to blow- but as the birds flitted outside of sight, their chattering was no longer harsh on his ears. The shadowed dome of leaves seemed their own private cottage.

A slight pant of breath hit his face, and he snapped up from examining his trainers to see her shimmer had moved close- very close. Her face was inches from his.

"Gin?" he whispered hoarsely.

"Yeah?" she answered quietly, and he could see individual hairs glinting as she angled her head down, probably staring at where her hands should be. She always did that during DA lessons.

"Please?"

The wind was knocked out of him violently as she threw herself, and Harry locked his arms around his invisible siren, tears slipping and spilling down his cheeks and into her hair.

She was sobbing for the second time he could remember, and he felt guilt wash fresh over him as he realized she didn't cry like this over other things- over Dobby and Tonks and even Fred- those were silent tears, not an eruption like this was.

"I w-was s-s-s-o _scared_, Harry!" she cried, and he grabbed his wand, frustration at not being able to see his Ginny blurring his vision, and she melted into view before him, her eyes red and wet, her cheeks streaked, her clothes rumpled and muddy. Godric she was beautiful, he reveled, and he pulled her face towards him without even bothering to ask if it was ok.

"I love you, I _love_ you, I love you, Ginny Weasley," he murmured, listening to her happy giggles escaping between half-sobs, kissing her wet eyelids, her cheeks and her chin and her nose and her lips, and settling into a deep kiss that stifled the last of her sniffling. Ginny hummed against him, her scent filling his nose as her lips slanted over his, parting again and again and filling him up with bliss. Her tongue mingled with his, sweet perfection singing in his gut and shooting heat through him, and he pulled her into his lap.

She pulled away, breaking off their kissing, and he groaned as she giggled in response.

"I love you," she whispered throatily.

Harry looked up into her eyes, dumbfounded, and saw the way her emotions pooled, liquid, warm and unwavering. It was a shock, like icy cold water, only somehow much, much better.

"Gin?" his voice cracked. "D'you think you could get off me? I don't really trust myself right now," he spoke, and she let out a peal of laughter as she scrambled off his lap, letting him take a few deep, calming breaths.

"Too much for you, Potter?" she teased, "I know I affect you, but I didn't think just being in your lap would make things difficult for you . . ." Her voice trailed off at the look on his face.

"Harry?" she questioned, and he looked up, a smile spreading over him as his eyes closed in happiness.

"No one's told me that before."

Silence fell, and she crawled over to him. Harry felt the joy tumbling around inside him. Her arms slid over his, and then she was wrapped around him, curled like a cat around his back.

"If I have it my way, you'll be hearing it every day for quite some time, Mr. Potter," she smiled, kissing his temple and leaning her head on his. Harry chuckled, thoughts of little red-haired girls and boys running up to jump in their bed on lazy Sunday mornings filling his head. He pulled her closer, if it was possible, and sighed happily.

"When do you start?"

"Not until a week after you're gone," he answered, still squeezing her happily. "I made a deal with Kingsley that I'd skip the first year of training- he figures I probably covered most of tracking, stealth and concealment anyway. He's just reviewing it. Most of what I need is potions, charms, protocol, and strategy. He doesn't even want NEWTS," Harry admitted.

"What about Ron?" she asked, seeming to read his mind as usual.

"He's going to offer the same deal to Ron when he gets back, but I think Ron might want to work at the shop with George for a while first. I figure Hermione is a bit more important to him right now too, but I didn't mention it to Kingsley," he grinned, and he opened his eyes to see Ginny's fierce ones blazing back.

"I love you so much, Harry," she whispered, and he tipped her face closer.

"Ditto," he whispered, grinning, and she slapped him jokingly.

"That doesn't count, Potter! You want these lips, you have to work for them!" she taunted, moving off his lap to shy away from his persistent grip.

"Oh, I think I've worked for them alright," Harry whispered, his eyes darkening.

"Harry Potter! You saving the wizarding world does NOT mean you are entitled to snogging rights!" she protested, crossing her arms, and they grinned at each other before Harry snorted and they fell to the ground, Ginny clutching her stomach as she roared with laughter.

"How about becoming second in command of the Auror division? Does that get me anywhere?" he teased, and Ginny's mouth dropped.

"Are you . . . are you serious?"

"No, that was my godfather," Harry chuckled, and she smacked him lightly, her eyes dancing. Harry felt a burst of fondness for his shaggy godfather, and this time, it wasn't tainted by remorse or pain.

"Are you sure you're ready for that?" she asked quietly, and he was silent, contemplating.

"I'm not, but I think they've been stretched too thin by the war, and most leaders . . . most leaders like power. I hate it. Dumbledore once said he wasn't made to be Minister because he was afraid of what he would do once he learned to like the power it gave him. Kingsley wants me to do it once I'm done training and I've had more field experience than most of the Aurors who'll be under me. A lot of the survivors have about the same skills as Tonks did, I guess. They're recent trainees or retirees who came back to help," he explained.

Ginny was quiet, and he found himself wondering what was going through her head. He could see her mind working over what he'd said, looking for any problems with his plans, and finding none, she smiled at him.

"I guess I knew you were going to do this awhile ago."

Harry said nothing, just gazing back at her, watching the way the sunlight flitted over her skin.

"At least this time I'll have some warning of when you're leaving, and probably how long you'll be gone," she joked, a tired look of acceptance on her face. Harry felt anxiety well up within him.

"Well, I've been working on that, actually- it's more Hermione, I guess- but I had the idea. Well, no, Sirius had the idea," he fumbled, and Ginny grinned. "Harry, what is it?"

"Do you remember those two-way mirrors that Sirius gave me?" he asked, and Ginny's eyes went wide.

"That's brilliant!!! If you can make those again, we can talk every night!"

"Yeah, it will be good, especially since I reckon we can't send many owls. Any we send out will have tracking charms able to find us, so Aurors usually aren't allowed," Harry explained. "Enough of this though- I can tell you about it later. What do you want to do today?"

Ginny lay back in the grass at the base of the tree, and beckoned with one finger. Harry crawled across the ground, grinning, and she stopped him with her hand.

"What?"

A devilish smile was her only reply.

"Really, Gin, What is it?"

"It's kind of sexy watching you do that," she smirked, and Harry shook his head and lay down beside her, spooning her. They each sighed.

"I'll admit I had plans to go swimming, but I feel like something else might be in the way," she admitted, and Harry felt his shoulders droop even while lying down. Had he really hurt her so much she couldn't go swimming with him?

"If you need time-" he began, but she rolled over and snuggled into his chest, effectively silencing him.

"Silly. I just realize there are things I don't know. Things I should know. And you need to tell me," she said softly, and Harry gave a start, looking down at her.

"You're right," he whispered. "No more secrets," he recalled aloud, and she kissed the corner of his mouth.

"Harry, you can have some secrets from me- you know I love surprises-" here he smirked, and she chuckled a bit. Both were thinking of the time he'd "surprised" her by grabbing her as she came out of the library sixth year and pulling her back into a broom closet for some "serious alone time," as she'd later dubbed it. "-But I don't want to have these gaps between what you know about me and what I know about you. Sometimes I get the feeling that with all the fighting and chasing we've done, actually dating each other got left behind a bit," and Harry nodded.

"We can fix that, you know," he reminded, kissing her neck and smiling when her eyes closed and her body shuddered just once.

"Fix what?" she asked, curling her arms around him and tugging him down on her.

"You're sure I'm not crushing you?"

"Harry, we've been over this! It's-"

"-Fine, I know-"

"But don't change the subject, what are we fixing?"

"Fixing?"

"Harry!"

"Yes, fixing- well, I just meant, I figure we could go on dates, if you want. I can apparate you to my school and I can see yours," Harry offered, and Ginny stared at him.

"Harry, you do know I had to be homeschooled, right?" she asked, and he stared back.

"Just you?"

"No, all of us- we're too prone to accidental magic. And in the twins' case, I think Mum was afraid they might blow something up for kicks, even when they were in preschool. I learned everything at home," she clarified, and Harry rolled over, looking up at the tree top. How could he have missed that? Surely Ron had mentioned it before!

"So I'm thinking you might have a point about missing dates," he chuckled, and Ginny crawled on top of him.

"Oomph!" he complained when she dropped down on his stomach, and she swatted him jokingly.

"I know I don't weigh that much, get used to it Potter!"

"Oh, I'm getting used to it," he teased, and she reddened and swiped at him again.

"Kidding! Just kidding!" he assured, and Ginny lay flat, gazing into his eyes.

"Where do you want to start first?" she murmured, kissing his cheek.

The first thought that entered his mind was the Dursleys- really, it was the beginning he could _remember_, even if it was full of pain and disappointment. He shoved it aside, thinking about Godric's Hollow- even if the last time, he'd almost been killed by Nagini at Bathilda's. But as he looked at her face, contemplating his with deep, chocolate eyes and quiet acceptance, Harry felt his emotions twist. Didn't she say she wanted to know everything? He'd never told anyone about his cupboard before, or the measly dinners, or the beating he got when he scored higher than Dudley- was now the time? Looking into her eyes, he felt his resolve to separate his life into pre-and-post-magic begin to waver.

It seemed, as always, she was one step ahead of him.

"I want to meet them, Harry," she whispered, and that blazing look he loved so much was searing him, pressing him into the ground.

"Gin, are you sure? I mean, I don't fancy much pulling you off Vernon just because he said I was a freak or something-"

"Oh, he'll be lucky if I just attack him physically," she seethed, thinking back to what Ron had said about second year. "Bars on his _windows_! They were starving him, Mum!" echoed in her head. The famous Weasley blush was spreading over her.

"Gin, calm down- look, we can go, but I don't want you pulling anything on them," Harry warned, taking in her reddening cheeks. "They can't hurt me anymore. I just don't care," he offered, and Ginny bristled at his hand on her shoulder. He felt like he was trying to keep her in place.

"I get it, Harry. But someone should do it," she growled, and Harry chuckled.

"I'll have to find out where they're living now, come to think of it. I'm pretty sure their house was destroyed after we all left," Harry admitted, and Ginny let out a feral sound like an angry cat.

"I suppose you think they deserved it," he sighed, and she said nothing, just looking at him. "So do you want to do Godric's Hollow, then? I know where that one is. I'd like to visit my parents today too-" he started, and Ginny shifted immediately, covering him with kisses.

"I'll get some flowers from Mum's garden, I think she has summer roses right now."

"'Kay. And Ginny?"

"What?"

"I love you."

They had just settled back into a particularly pleasant snog when what could only be the sound of Ron smashing his way through the forest hit their ears.

"OI! DID SHE FINISH YOU OFF YET? COZ I'M ABOUT TO DO IT FOR HER IF YOU MADE HER CRY AGAIN, POTTER!"

"He has the worst timing in the world," Harry muttered, and Ginny rolled her eyes.

"At least you have the invisibility cloak," she reminded, and Harry's eyes lit up.

"No, Harry, we will not be ignoring my brother under cover of your cloak to snog! He's going to find us eventually, even if it means he trips over our writhing bodies!" she admonished, and Harry chuckled.

"'Writhing?' And what exactly would we be doing that we'd be writhing?" he smirked, and Ginny stood up, kicking him lightly, and pulled him up off the ground.

"C'mon, he'll start blasting the bushes next, looking for your body," she muttered, and Harry took her hand, grinning.

"You don't think he'll really try to take my bullocks off, do you? He was threatening earlier, but I think we might need those."

They both looked down at his crotch, and then Ginny flamed red again.

"Not funny," she muttered, and Harry put up a shield in case Ron was feeling trigger-happy and pulled them out into the sun. The weeping willow branches swayed back into place behind them, and Harry sent his wand back at the tree, marking a burnt "x" into the ground beside it. He wanted to be able to find it later.

"Getting sentimental on me, Mr. Potter?" Ginny smiled at him.

"Not a chance, Mrs. Potter," he snapped back, and Ginny got a dreamy look on her face.

"Er, Gin? Remember Ron? Blasting bushes? Bullocks in trouble?" he reminded, and she shook her head.

"You know that distracts me," she complained, and then screeched happily as he hefted her up over his shoulders and tugged her into place on his back.

"Maybe he won't fire if he thinks he'll hit you," Harry joked, and they walked off into the forest.

"And maybe I won't hex you for calling me Mrs. Potter when you haven't asked me to be Mrs. Potter yet!" she teased back.

Harry was quiet. "I will," he assured, and Ginny seemed to lose her breath on his back. "I just want to wait a bit." She snuggled closer, her legs locked around his waist.

"Ron, then Godric's Hollow?"

"Godric's Hollow," he nodded.


End file.
